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J-'ron/i.'iii 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF 
^ESTHETICS 


IN 


MUSIC,  POETRY,   PAINTING.   SCULPTURE 
AND  ARCHITECTURE 


BY 


GEORGE  LANSING  RAY.AIOND,  L.  H.  D. 

PROFKSS'IR    CF    .-E.-^THETICS    IN'    THE    GE'iKGK     WASHINGIOX    UNIVERSITY 
FiiR.MEKLY   I'KOFIiS.-'iR    JN    iKlNCHTdX    rN!\'EKsrrV 


AUTHOR    OF    A    SYSTEM   OF    COMPARATIVE   .ESTHETICS    AS    PRE- 
SE\'li;i)  I\  TH1-:  FOLLOWING  VOLUMES:    "ARJ'  IX  THEORY,"  "THE 

kei'ri:>i;nta-i  ivE  sioxificanx'e  of  form,"  '-poe'I'rv  as  a  re- 

I'RFSEX'l'AITVE  ART,"  "PAIXTIXO,  SCULPTURE.  AND  ARCHFIEC- 
TL"RE  AS  R1:PRESEXTATIVE  arts,"  "  THE  OEXE>lS  Ol"  ART-FORM," 
'•lUiVlTlM  AM)  HARMOXY  IX  POEl  R\'  AXD  MUSIC,"  AXD  "-I'RO- 
PORIIOX  AND  HARMONY  OF  I. INI".  AND  COLOUR  IN  PAINTING. 
SCULPTURE,    AND    ARCHFTEC'LURE" 


NEW   ^ORK 

G.  P.  PUTNAAPS  SONS 

XLbc  Iknlchcrbocher  press 

1906 


Copyright,  1906 

(;eorge  lansixg  Raymond 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


Zbc  •J^nicl^erbochcr  press,  flew  Sorft 


PREFACE. 

'T^HE  object  of  this  book  is  to  determine  for  the  reader, 
if  possible,  the  qualities  causing  excellence  in  the 
higher  arts,  and  to  increase  his  appreciation  of  them. 
The  volume  has  been  prepared  by  request  for  readers 
whose  time  is  too  limited  to  study  the  minutiai  of  the 
subject,  and  for  teachers  who  need  a  text-book.  Many 
extended  comments  upon  the  different  historic  theories, 
schools,  and  methods  of  art,  and  many  analyses,  explana- 
tions, classifications,  arguments,  and  suggestions,  which 
seemed  indispensable  to  completeness  of  presentation 
when  I  was  writing  the  work  of  which  this  is  a  compen- 
dium, will  not  be  found  in  these  pages.  With  this  ma- 
terial omitted,  however,  together  with  all  that  might  be 
termed  merely  speculative  or  controversial,  it  is  believed 
that  enough  has  been  included  to  accomplish  the  object 
of  the  undertal^ing.  The  phenomena  of  the  arts  of  the 
highest  class  have  been  traced  to  their  sources  in  material 
nature  and  in  the  human  mind;  the  different  arts  have 
been  shown  to  be  developed  by  exactly  similar  methods  ; 
and  these  methods  have  been  sliown  to  chai'acterise  the 
entire  work  of  artistic  imagination,  from  the  formulation 
of  psychical  concepts  to  that  of  their  most  physical  ex- 
pressions in  rhythm,  proportion,  and  harmony.  Conjointly 
with  these  subjects,  the  effects  of  all  the  arts  together 
upon  everything  that  makes  for  culture  and  for  humanity 
have  been  considered  in  themselves,  as  well  as  in  their 
relations  to  religion  antl  to  science,  to  both  of  which  art  is 
somewhat  allied,  and  yet  in  sucli  wa}'s  as  to  make  it 
important  that  the  three  should  be  differentiated. 

\vas„,ngi<).v,  I),  c,  Gi;nK(,];  Lansing  Raymond. 

Novcinlicr  21,  1906. 


The  word  asthctics  is  traceaMe  to  a  work  termed  ''  .listhetica,"  pub- 
lislied  in  Germany  in  1750,  by  A.  G.  Baunigarten.  The  word  was  derived 
from  the  Greek  m'(50;/r/Kcl?  meaning  "  fittetl  to  be  perceived,"  and  is  now 
used  to  designate  tliat  which  is  fitted  to  tlie  requirements  of  what  pliilo- 
sophers  term  perception  .•  in  otlier  words,  fitted  to  accord  with  the  laws, 
whether  of  physiology  or  psychology,  which  make  effects  appealing  to  the 
mind  through  the  organs  of  perception — i.e.,  through  the  senses — satisfactory, 
agreeable,  and,  as  we  say,  beautiful.  If  such  effects  need  to  be  "fitted  ' 
to  be  perceived,  they,  of  course,  need  to  be  made  to  differ  from  the  condition 
in  which  they  are  presented  in  nature.  Tliat  which  causes  them  to  differ 
from  this  is  art.  ALsthctics  is  the  science  of  the  beautiful  as  exemplified  in 
art.  Tlie  latter  has  to  do  with  the  processes  through  which  a  sight  or  a 
sound  may  be  "  fitted  to  be  perceived  "  ;  the  former,  with  the  effects  after  it 
has  been  put  through  these  processes.  One  cannot  be  artistic  without  being 
able  to  design  and  produce  ;  he  may  be  usthelic.  when  able  merely  to  appre- 
ciate and  enjoy  the  results  of  design  and  production, 

The  German  term  for  the  science,  which  some  have  tried  to  introduce 
into  English,  is  u-sthctic.  But  tliis  term,  except  wlien  employed  as  an 
adjective,  seems  to  be  out  of  analogy  w  itli  English  usage.  According  to  it, 
the  singular  ending  ic,  as  in  lo^^ic  and  i/iiisic,  commonly  designates  some 
single  department  in  which  the  methods  of  the  science  produce  similar  re- 
sults. The  plural  ending  ics,  as  in  mathc)>iatics ^  p/iysics  vui/iaiiics,  and 
ethics,  commonly  designates  a  group  of  various  dei'iartments,  in  which 
similar  methods  produce  greatly  varying  results.  The  many  different  de- 
partments both  of  sight  and  of  sound  in  whicli  can  be  applied  the  principles 
underlying  effects  that  can  be  "fitted  to  be  perceived,"  seem  to  render  it 
appropriate  and  important  that  in  English  the  scieiice  treating  of  them  should 
be  termed  asthetics. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

Nature,  Art,  and  Fine  Art    .....        1-15 

Introduction — Art  is  a  Method— Artlessness  and  Art  Illustrated — 
Differing  Xot  as  Originality  from  Imitation,  nor  as  the  Natural 
from  the  Unnatural — But  as  an  Immediate  Expression  of  Natural 
Instinct  from  that  of  Human  Intelligence — Art-Products  Not 
Creations  but  Rearrangements  of  Nature — And  also  Results 
that  are  Distinctively  Human — The  Fine  or  Higher  Arts — 
Distinguished  from  Others  Ijy  Belonging  iNIost  Finely  and  Dis- 
tinctively to  Nature — Therefore  Emphasising  Natural  Appear- 
ances— Form  Essential  to  the  Higher  Arts — Different  Classes  of 
these — Study  of  Nature  Essential  to  Success  in  Producing  them 
— Arts  that  are  Most  Finely  and  F)istinctively  Human  Address  and 
Express  Intellect  through  Sound  or  Sight — Human  as  Distinguished 
from  Animal— Expression  as  Developed  from  l^ossession  of  Human 
Vocal  Organs  and  Hands — ^The  Higlier  Arts  are  also  in  the  Most 
Pine  and  Distinctive  Sense  iSIade — How  to  Class  Landscape- 
Gardening,  Decoration,  Dancing,  Pantomime,  Elocution,  and 
Drairiatics — The  Humanities- -External  Products  Necessitated  in 
Music — Poetry — Painting  and  Sculpture — And  in  Architecture. 

CHAPTER   IE 
Beauty       .........      16-38 

There  are  Certain  Limitations  in  the  Sights  and  Sounds,  the 
Tluntghts  and  Fin(jti'>n^,  and  the  l-',.\t(:nial  Pnulucts  with  wliich  Art 
Hn-i  to  Deal — Tlie  Siglits  and  Sounds  must  Have  Interest,  Charm, 
Beauty — Beauty  as  Atuiliuted  to  form  as  I'Orni  —  To  Form  as  an 
Expression  of  Thoughts  or  Emotions —  I'o  Both  these  Sources  Com- 


VI  CONTENTS 

billed — Examples — Complexity  of  Effect  Characteristic  of  Beauty 
- — lu  Sounds — 111  Lines  ami  Colours — Ik-sides  Complexity,  Har- 
mony of  l''ffect  ujion  the  Senses  is  Essential  in  I5eauty  ;  Produced 
through  Like  or  Related  Vibrations  in  Tones  and  Colours — 
Through  Like  or  Related  Divisions  of  Time  or  Sjiace  in  Rhythm 
and  Proportion — Unity  of  Effect  upon  the  lirain  Necessary  to 
Beauty — Mind  Affected  Irrespective  of  the  Senses — Senses  Affected 
from  the  ]Mind-side — Complexity  even  in  Form  Recognised  and 
Analysed  by  the  Mind — Imagination  P'rames  an  Image  as  a 
Standard  of  Beauty — Mind  is,  therefore,  Affected  and  Active  when 
Beauty  is  Recognised,  Exemplified  in  Music — In  Poetry — In  Arts 
of  Sight — What  is  Meant  by  Harmony  of  Effects  upon  the  Mind 
in  Music  or  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — -Further  Remarks  on  Com- 
plexity and  Unity — Definition  of  Beauty — What  it  Leaves  Unex- 
plainetl — -Applies  to  Natural  as  well  as  to  Artistic  Forms — -To  Arts 
of  Sound  as  well  as  of  Sight  —  Isolation  of  this  Deiinition  to  Other 
Definitions — Taste — Its  Cultivation. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Artistic   Mexfal  Actiox,  as  Distinguished  from 

'j'HAT  IX  Religion  axd  Sciexce    .         .  .     39-5' 

That  which  is  P'xpressed  in  Art — The  Play-Impulse  as  DescriLied 
by  Schiller,  Spenser,  P>ro\\n  —  Relation  of  the  Art-Impulse  to 
Excess  of  Life-Force  and  to  Imitation— To  Spiritual  Force — 'Po 
Iii>piration — The  Conscious  and  Subc'inscious  Sjiheres  of  Mind; 
Memory — Hypnotism — Trained  Automatic  Skill — Subconscious 
Mathematical,  Logical,  and  Musical  Proficiency — Religious  In- 
spiration, Scientific  Investigation  aiul  Artistic  Imagination — 
P)ifferences  between  Religion  and  Art — Art  can  Inlluence  for 
Good  Religious  I'houglit  and  Life — Diiferenccs  between  Science 
and  Art — 'I'he  Main  ^\'ork  of  Science  Conducted  in  tlie  Conscious 
Mental  Region  ;  lliat  of  Art  F.ipially  in  the  Subconscious — 
Illustrations — The  '\\m\  of  Imagination  and  of  None — Subconscious 
Mental  and  Iniaginati\'e  Action  Is  n.ot  Irrational,  though  it  is 
Rapid  and  l-'.niotional — ('onneclion  between  Arti-tic  Mental  .Vction 
and  ■Peniperaiiiciit  — .\rii.-;s  Are  Men  of  Sentiment. 


CONTENTS  \\\ 

PACK 

CHAPTER  IV, 

Artistic    Results    as    Determined    by    Tempera- 
ment, Training,   Practice,   and  Skill  .     59-67 

How  the  Artistic  Differs  from  the  Scientific  Mind — Some  Unfitted 
by  Nature  to  Become  Artists — The  Effect  of  Education  in  Training 
Ability  to  L"se  what  has  been  Stored  in  tlie  Mind — Ability  to  Use 
this  Depends  on  the  Physical  I'ower  of  the  Brain — This  can  l)e 
Developed  In'  I'ractice — This  Development  can  Extend  to  that 
which  Involves  the  Possession  of  Lienius — Training  Affects  the 
Quality  of  Subject-Matter  as  well  as  of  Style — The  Ability  to 
Give  Expression  to  Subconscious  Inspirati(jn  which  Characterises 
Clenius  is  also  Due  to  Skill  acquired  l>y  Practice — Subconscious 
Powers  can  be  Cultivated  through  Training  the  Conscious,  as  in 
the  Car^e  of  Memory — Of  Critical  Ability — The  Degree  of  Work  is 
apt  to  [Measure  the  Degree  of  Worth — Any  Development  in  the 
Mind  may  Contribute  to  Artistic  I  'evelopment. 

CHAPTER  V. 
Artistic  Form  and  Sicnificaxce    ....     68-78 

Review  of  the  Thought  in  Preceding  Chapters — I\eproduction  of 
Beauty  Necessitating  Attention  to  both.  l'"orm  and  Significance 
—  Meaning  of  the  term  l-'orm  in  .Vrt — Of  the  term  Significance^ 
The  Nece-'sity  for  (ii\ing  Due  Consideration  to  Both^Regard  for 
Eorm  and  Disregard  of  Significance  in  Painting — In  Sculpture, 
Architecture,  Music,  and  Poetry — How  h'ar  llie  Artist  must 
consciously  Regard  claims  of  Significance — Regard  for  Signifi- 
cance and  Disreganl  uf  b'unn  in  I'lieliy  and  l';uiitiiig — In  Architect- 
ure— In  Music — Regard  fur  Pm-in  and  for  Significance  need  Not 
be  Antagfjnistic — Reason  for  Aiip]_\-ing  to  llie  Higher  Arts  the 
term  Representative. 

chap'I'i:r  VI. 

Art   as   Pij^kk-kxi  \i  i\-i.   i; a  1  tii  r    i  trw    Imitative 

OF     XATL'IiAI,    A  l'i'i:AkAN(    I.S       ....     79-IoS 

k(  orcsentat  ion  (^onlrn>ted  \\\\\\  Imitation — Co-ordinated  witli 
Re  juirL-nii-iit  -  of  1  maginaf  ion — (  if  S\nipathy — Rciii'c--(_:ntatioii 
versus  Imitation  in   Music — Km  re^milation   in    it  of    1  nlonations  of 


VIU  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Speech — Of  Natural  Humming  and  of  Surrounding  Sounds — Repre- 
sentations of  Nature  in  the  Sounds  and  Figures  of  Poetry — In  its 
General  Themes — Representations  of  Nature  in  Painting  and 
Sculpture — While  Sometimes  Imitative,  these  are  Always  Repre- 
sentative— Shown  in  the  Results  of  the  Study  of  \'alues — Of  Right 
and  Shade — Of  Shape  and  Texture — Of  Distance,  and  the  Classic 
and  Impressionist  Line — Of  Aerial  Perspective — Of  Lineal  Perspec- 
tive— Of  Life  and  Movement — Explaining  Occasional  Lack  of 
Accuracy — Same  Principles  Applied  to  Sculpture — Representation 
rather  than  Imitation  in  Primitive  Architecture,  as  in  Huts.  Tents, 
etc. — Architectural  Perspective  as  Applied  by  the  Greeks — Explain- 
ing Differences  in  Measurements  of  Similar  h'eatures  in  tl;e  Same 
Building — Differences  in  Measurements  of  Corresponding  P"ca'. ures 
in  Different  Ruildings — Representation.  Not  Imitation,  the  Artist's 
Aim  in  Reproducing  P'orms  in  Architecture. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Art  as  Representative  rather  thax  Communica- 
tive OF  Thoughts  and  Emotions         .  109-129 

Artistic  Treatment  does  Not  Increase,  and  may  Diminish  the 
Conimunicative  i  hialities  of  a  Product  —  Art  Inwjh'es  Cdmmunit-a- 
tion  through  L'>ing  or  Referring  to  Natural  Appearances;  /.<■., 
through  Representing  these — Repre>entation  of  Thoughts  and 
Emotions  through  Sustained  and  Unsustained  A'ocal  Sounds — 
Used  respectively  in  Song  and  in  Speech — Mu.>ic  docs  Not  Com- 
municate, but  Represents  Underlying  Tendencies  of  Mental  Pr-i- 
cesses — Analogous  to  Natural  Processes — h'reeJom  of  Imaginative 
Inference  Stimulated  alNO  in  Poetry,  which  should  Represent 
rather  than  Communicate — Illustiation — Same  Principle  Appli- 
cable to  Whole  Poems — The  Mitral  in  Poetry  is  Represented  — 
Msible  Arts  Represent  Thoughts  and  Feeling'- — Paintings  and 
Statues  are  Ranked  accoriling  to  the  <  Vaality  of  the  Significance 
which  they  Represent — Illustrated  in  Pictures  of  Flowers  or 
Fruit — Of  Natural  Scener} — Of  Portraits  and  Human  Figures — 
Architectural  Representation,  and  IIow  it  is  Related  to  Mu.-~ical  — 
Representative  Character  of  Foundations,  WalU  and  Roots  — Of 
Constructive  Der^igns  ami  General  Plan — Communicative  Fllects 
of  Such  Representation. 


CONTENTS  IX 

PAGE 
CHAPTER  VIII. 

Art  as  Representative  rather  than  Presenta- 

TIVE  OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  ArTIST  130-140 
Relation  of  Art  to  the  Artist — Art  Emphasises  the  Fact  that 
Natural  Factors  are  Used  for  Exiiression — This  Fact  Reveals  a 
Spirit  Capable  of  Expressing  Tlioughts  and  Emotions — Why  High 
Art  Uses  Forms  Other  than  those  l^elonging  to  the  Artist's  Own 
ISody — Connection  between  the  Creative  in  the  Divine  and  in  the 
Artist — Both  Necessitate  Representation — Representation  of  Sjjirit 
and  of  the  Subconscions  Nature — Connection  in  Art  between  Per- 
sonal and  Sympathetic  Effects  —  Explanation  —  How  Art  can 
Represent  Ajipearances  as  they  Affect  tiie  Individual,  and  yet  as 
they  Affect  All — Owing  to  Artist's  Sym]5athetic  Temperament — 
^\'hat  i--  denius — Its  Effects  Re[)resentative  of  the  Individual,  and 
yet  of  Men  in  General. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Different  Arts  as  Representing  Different 

Phases  of  Mental  Conception    .         .  141-154 

The  Art  Used  in  Expression  is  Often  Determined  by  the  Thought 
or  Emotion  to  be  Expressed — Form  of  I^xprcssion  Apjjropriate  for 
Each  Stage  of  any  given  Experience — Physical  Tlirill  and  Vocal 
Expression  Leading  to  Music — Delinite  Opinions  and  \'erbal 
Expression  Leading  to  Poetry — Conllicting  Opinions  Leading  to 
Oratory — Contemplation  of  Facts  as  they  Appear  Leading  to 
Painting  and  Sculpture — I'laniiing  and  Rearranging  Leading 
to  Architecture — Relations  of  l-",\ternal  Influence  and  States  of 
Consciousness  as  Re;)re.>ented  in  lOach  Art — -Mental  ('ontents  and 
Inlluence  from  Witiiout  Compared  to  Ice  on  \Vater  flowing  into 
an  Inlet — Conditions  (.'orresponding  to  Music,  Poetr_\',  Paintii  g. 
Sculpture  and  Architecture — Testimony  of  Physics — Largest  Nerve- 
Movement  in  Mu>ie,  Less  in  I'uetr_\',  Lcss  still  in  (Jolours,  I.ea-t  in 
Lines — Nerves  Are  Directly  (  onseious  of  X'ibrations  in  Sound,  as 
in  'Idiunder,  but  Not  of  N'ibrations  in  Colour^ — This  l-'act  Illus- 
trated Mythologically  and  M  edicinally— Mental  P'acts  Accord 
with  what  has  I'receded — 'i'he  Iii'leliiiitc  is  Represented  in 
Inarticulated  Mnsir;  the  l)erinite  in  Articnialed  Poetry — Differ- 
ence in    R.epresentalive  Elfecls  (;f   Words  and  Tones — Is  a   Dilfer- 


X  CONTENTS 

PAGE 
ence    between    Visualising    Thought    and    Not    Visualising    it  — 
Illustrations — Non-imaginative    Effect    of    Poetry    that    does    Not 
Suggest  Sights — Non-success  of  Poetry  Too  exclusively  Musical. 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  Different  Arts  as  Represextixg  Different 

Phases  OF  Mental  Conception — Continued  155-176 

Persuasion  aiid  Oratory — The  Conditions  of  Mind  Represented  in 
the  Arts  of  Sight  —  In  Landscape  Gardening — In  Painting — The 
Different  Conditions  Expressed  in  Poetry  and  in  Painting — Bearings 
of  this  Fact  upon  Poetry — Theory  of  Lessing — Objection  to  the 
Theorv — Importance  of  the  Theory  Illustrated  in  Poetrv — -Other 
Examples — Applied  to  Methods  of  Poetic  Description — By  Talfourd 
— Craljbe — Wordsworth — Tennyson — Some  Subjects  Unfit  for 
Paintings — Other> — Allegorical  Paintings — Same  Subjects  Possible 
to  Poetry  and  Painting,  if  Treated  DilTerently— Painting  can 
Suggest  More  Movement  than  Sculpture — And,  on  Account  of 
Colour,  More  \'ariety  in  the  Number  and  Sizes  of  Objects  ; 
Also  More  Minuteness  and  Trivialit}' — Architecture  as  Originated 
—  As  Intluenced  by  Metlioris  of  Painting  and  (if  Sculpture- 
Deterioration  on  account  of  this — Keca-pitulation  \\\\\\  Reference 
to  Forms  of  Rejiresentali on  in  Arts  of  Sight — Correspondences 
Between  Architecture  and  Music — >  onclu^ion. 

CHAPTER  XL 

Differences  in  the  Same  Art  a<  Rf-presenting 
Different  Decri-.ks  of  Con>l;ous  or  Sui;- 
coNScious   Mental   Actiox      .  .         .  177-194 

The  Balance  between  Influence  ujion  the  Conscious  and  Sub- 
conscious Mind  —  Religio'.<,  Scientific,  and  Arti-tic   Conce'.nioU' 

Expressed  in  Idealism,  Realism,  a:ul  Iileali-t-d  Realism — In  the 
(iood,  True,  and  Peautirid  ;  the  Sublime,  Pictu:  e-que,  and  ISiilliant  ; 
tile  (.Irand,  Simple,  and  Sir;lii:ig — The  Sublime — Ilhistrations — 
The  l'ictures(pie — Tlie  P.iiUi.iat  —  1  )isti!iction  between  the  lieauti- 
ful  and  the  liirilliant — Tl";c  Cirand  as  Allied  to  the  Ilorri'ile  —  The 
Simple  to  the  Pat  lie;  ic — The  Striking  to  tlie  Molent — True  in  All 
the  Arts — Tlie  Ii;.ic — The  Realistic — The  Dramatic — Aim  of 
Ejjic-Recital  —  Ol    Reali-tic— Of    Dramatic — Epic   Art-1'roducts — 


CONTENTS  Xi 

Realistic — Historic — The  Historic  Distinguished  From  the  Dra- 
matic— Dramatic  Poetry;  Lyrics — Dramatic  (Character-Painting — 
Genre  Painting — Dramatic  Painting  Proper — Historic  J)istin- 
guished  from  Dramatic  Sculpture  —  Practical  Object  of  these 
Distinctions. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Rkpresextatiox    IX    THE    Elemexts   oe    Form,    ix 

THE  Arts  of  Soi'nd        ....  195-212 

Reca|)itulation — Necessity  of  Studying  the  I-'.lemcnts  of  Repre- 
sentation—  l-'specially  as  Pr(jiluced  through  the  \'ocal  Organs  and 
Hands — In  the  Arts  of  Elocution  and  Gesture — Meanings  of  the 
I'dtments  of  Sound  iu  Elocution — Duration  Repiesenting  Mental 
Measurement  in  Music — In  Poetry — Force  Representing  Mental 
Energy  in  Music — In  Poetrv — Pitch  Representing  Mental  Aim  or 
Motive — Directions  of  Pitch  in  I'Jocution — Prir.ciple  l-'urther 
Illustrated  —  Diffeient  Meanings  of  t'le  Same  Phraseology  when 
Differentl}'  Intoned — The  Same  I'rinciple  Fulfilled  in  Music — In 
Modern  ^^lelodies — Other  Illustrations — In  Poetr) — Illustrations 
— Quality  Representing  Mental  Feelings — In  Pdocuti(jn — Analogies 
in  Nature — In  Music — In  Imitati\e  Music — ])ifferent  (Qualities  in 
Music — In  Poetry  ;    Indtative  ITfects — Associative  Effects. 

CHAPTER  XHl. 

Rl  I'RISEXTATIOX      IX     THE      I'^l.EMEXTS     OE      FoRM,      IX 

THE  Aris  oe  Sight         ....  213-268 

O'orre^])ondences  in  .Arts  of  S(jund  ano  of  Sight — Size  Representing 
Mental  Iv-tiniate — 'l"l;is  Fact  and  F.lTccl^  of  Si;.;nilicance  in  l'>eaut\' 
—  Large  Size  and  Xearnos — Same  Princijile--  in  Arclntectui-c— 
R' ^uine — .Ma-i-i\"eness  or  Touch  Lepresciiting  Mental  I'hicrg}'  in 
I  trawing — Painting — Sciili  iture  —  Architecture  —  (  hit  lines  Repre- 
sent ing  Mental  Moti\x- — Their  Meanings  in  tlie  Human  l-'orni  — 
In  (Gestures  of  tlie  Hand>  —  FiNt— Finger — Full  Hand  — Closing 
(le-t'in-  —  (jpening  (Ic-tui'i. —  Movenients  of  Anns — (icstures  In- 
vard  an'l  (  )ut\\ai"d — Dramatic  ('le^lurc^  —  (lenei'al  Actuating 
MoliNC-  Peprestaited  in  tlic  (ic^lures  —  Analogous  Mi-anings  in 
.\a!ural  Scenery,  of  ('nrvc-. — ')f  Mraight  Fines  and  Angles  —  As 
Iii'iicaled    1)}'  a   man's    Rsc   of   tlicin    in    FamLcape-C  iardcnii,i_'     -1  n 


XI 1  CONTENTS 

PAGE 
Painting — In  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Quality  in  Tone  Repre- 
senting Mental  Feeling  Finds  Analogy  in  Colour — Cold  and  Warm 
Colours — Different  Colours  Corresponding  to  Different  Qualities — • 
Normal  Tone  and  Cold  ;  Orotund  Tone  and  Warm  Colour — Varied 
Colours  and  Exciting  Effects — Red  and  Trumpet — Examples  from 
Painting — Colours  in  Human  Countenance — In  Sculpture — In 
Architecture — Colours  in  Representing  Distance — Applied  to  P)uild- 
ings — Mixed  Colours — Black — Black  with  Cold  Colours — With 
Warm  Colours — White  with  Cold  Colours — With  Warm  Colours — 
Conclusion. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Art-Composition       ......  269-296 

Imagination  Necessary  in  Elaborating  as  well  as  in  Originating 
Representative  Forms  of  Expression — Methods  of  Composing 
Music — Poetry — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture — Mental 
Methods  in  Art-Composition  Analogous  to  Other  Mental  Methods 
— To  that  in  Classification — How  Art-Classification  Differs  from 
Ordinary  Classification — The  iNIethod  of  Classification  not  Incon- 
sistent with  Representing  the  Artist's  Thoughts  and  Emotions — Or 
with  Representing  Nature — ^Explanation — Artist  Influenced  by 
Mental  and  Material  Considerations — Methods  of  Art-Composition 
are  Methods  of  Obtaining  Unity  of  Effect — Obtained  in  Eacli  Art 
by  Comparison,  or  Putting  Tike  with  Like — \'ariety  in  Nature 
Necessitating  Contrast — Contrast  in  Each  Art — Also  Compk-xity 
— Complement — Order  and  Group-Form — Confusion  and  Counter- 
action—  Principality  and  Subordination — Balance — Distinguished 
from  Complement  and  Counteraction — Principality  in  Music  and 
Poetry — Subordination  and  Balance  in  the  Same — Principality  in 
Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture — Organic  Form — In 
Music — In  Poetry — In  Painting  and  Sculpture — In  Architecture. 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Art-Composition — -Continued  .         .         .  297-319 

Congruity,  Incongruity,  and  Compreliensiveness — Central-Point, 
Setting,  and  Parallelism — In  Music  and  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — 
Symmetry — Repetition,  Alteration,  and  Alternation  in  [Music  and 
Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — Massing  in  Music  and  Poetry — Massing 
or   Breadth    in    Painting — Illustrations — In   Sculpture   and  Archi- 


CONTENTS  XIU 

PAGE 
tecture — Interspersion  and  Complication — Continuity — Music  and 
Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — Consonance — Distinguished  from  Con- 
gruity  and  Repetition — Dissonance  and  Interchange — The  Latter 
in  Painting — Gradation  and  Abruptness — In  Music  and  Poetry — 
Transition  in  Same  Arts — Gradation  and  Abruptness  in  Colour — 
In  Outline — In  Architecture — Progress  in  Painting  and  Sculpture 
—  In  Architecture — Completeness  of  this  Analysis  of  the  Methods 
of  Art-Composition. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Rhythm  .\xd  Proportio.v  ....  320-358 

Rhythm  Not  Originated  by  Art — It  Exists  in  Nature — In  Nerve 
Action — Required  by  the  Natural  Action  of  the  Mind — Klements 
of  Rhythm  existing  in  Speech — How  Developed  in  Metre  and 
Verse — In  Music—  Poetic  Measures — General  Comment — Meaning 
of  Proportion — Result  of  a  Natural  Tendency  to  Make  Like  Meas- 
urements— Manifested  Everywhere — Proportion  in  Nature — An 
Important  Art-Principle — -Result  of  Comparing  Measurements  Not 
actually  Made,  but  Possible  to  Make  —  Not  actually  Alike,  but 
Apparently  So — ^Proportion  Puts  Like  Measurements  with  Like — 
Fulfdling  Principles  in  Chapters  XI\'.  and  X\'. — -Why  Proportional 
Ratios  must  be  Represented  by  Small  Numbers — -How  Larger 
Numbers  may  be  Used — -Rectilinear  Proportions — Of  Allied 
Rectangles — Of  Irregular  Complex  Figures — Must  be  Accom- 
panied by  Outlines  of  Simple  ami  Regular  l''igures — Proportions  of 
Human  Form  and  Clothing — Countenance — Greek  Type  of  k'a^  ^ 
Not  the  Only  Peautiful  One — N\'hy  Otlier  Types  may  Seem 
Beautiful  —  Proportions  of  Human  liody  Indicated  by  (Jircles  and 
Ellipses — Piinocular  Vision  —  Its  Relation  to  l-^llipse.s — Why  the 
Curve  is  the  Line  of  Beauty — Shapes  of  Vases — Relation  of  Like 
Curves  to  Proportion  Illustrated  in  Curves  of  the  Human  Form — 
Conclusion. 

CHAPTER  XVn. 
Harmony  of  Toxk  in  thk  Aris  (jk  Sound     .  359-366 

The  ICfTects  of  R.hythm  and  of  Harmony  Illustrate  the  Same 
Principle — What    Causes    Loudness    and    Pitch    of    Tone — What 


XIV  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Causes  Quality — Musical  Tones  Compounded  of  Partial  Tones 
Caused  hy  \'ibrations  Related  as  i  :  2,  2:3,  etc. — These  Partial 
Tones  are  Merely  Repeated  in  Scales — And  Chords — Musical 
Harmony  Results  from  Putting  Toi;ether  Notes  Having  Like 
Partial  Effects — This  True  of  the  Most  Complex  Arrangements — 
True  of  Poetic  Harmony. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Harmony  of  Colour  in  the  Arts  of  Sight  367-3S6 

Production  of  the  Colours  of  the  Spectrtnn — Effect  of  Eight  upcjn 
Colours — Dehnition  of  Terms — Complementary  Colours — As  I'r"- 
duced  by  Light  and  by  Pigments — ddie  After-image  in  Consectitive 
Contract — Simultaneous  Contrast — All  Colours  Impart  about  them 
I'ints  of  their  Complementaries — Principles  Determining  Use  d'c- 
gether  (_)f  Two  Colours — Of  Three  Colours — Of  Eour  Colours — Con- 
secutive and  Simultaneous  Contrast  Due  to  Physiological  Action 
of  the  Eye — Correspondences  Between  Ratios  of  Harmonic  Colours 
and  Tones — Owing  to  Minuteness  of  Colour-Wa\cs  Nothing  in 
Colours  Corresponds  to  tlie  1  dlferent  Scales  in  Music — Tlie  Ratio 
of  tlie  Two  Notes  I'orming  the  Most  Perfect  Consonance  in  a  Single 
Mu^^ical  Scale — dhis  Ratio  as  Repiesented  Among  tlie  Colours 
— Colour  1  larmony  as  Actually  Dexeloped — Not  Erom  P.atios  Occa- 
sioning Vibraticr.is,  but  from  Analysis  of  Light — Tlie  Eield- 
Theory  of  Colour- 1  larmony — ddieory  Based  on  Psychological  Effects 
— On  Physiological  Effects — Tone,  or  the  Predominant  I'seof  ( )ne 
Colour,  in  a  Painting — Wliy  this  may  Eullil  the  Same  Principle  of 
Harmony  as  the  Use  of  Great  \'ariety  of  Colour — Colour  Harmony 
Re>ults  from  an  Application  to  Colour  of  All  the  Principles 
Unfolded  in  Cliaptcrs  Xl\'.  and  X\'. — Beauty  in  .\rt — -Vnd 
Suggestion — Conclusion. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

1.  The  Descent  from  the  Cross,  by  Ruisens        .         Frontispiece 

Fn'in    :i   phiito^raph .      Mentioned   on    paj:es    109,   193,  260,279,284,290, 
305- 

2.  KiiEi  IS  OK  Distance  ox  MAGNiirnE,  Lioht,  Contrast,  and 

Detaii,   ...........         3 

From    J.    W.    Stinison's   "  Principles   and    Methods   of   Art-Edncation." 
>rentioned  on  pa-es  86,  88,  S9,  90,  92,  93.  1^4,  21S,  262,  300,  315,  381. 

3.  Lt.ht  and  Shadi;.  liv  Walter  Crane       .....       19 

From  CasscU's  Mai^dziite  of  .■\.rt.     Mentioned  on  pages  89,  224. 

4.  PoLLicE  Verso,  hy  Gerome        .......       41 

From  a  photop;raph.      Mentioned  on  paj:es  8),  191,  2:8,  279,  284,  290,  291, 
300.  302. 

5.  I,EA\  !N(;  FOR  Work,  ry  J.  F.  Mn.LEr         .....       6i 

From  a  photograjjh.     Mentioned  on  pa.:es  S  ,.  >  o,  -,5.  07,  190. 

6.  The  (Girlhood  o',-  the  \'ir(;in  Mary,  i;v  Ros^etti  ...       71 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  90. 

7.  A  Storm,  ky  J.  F.  Mn.EET 91 

From  a  jiliotograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  'lo,  94,  120,  190,  279. 

8.  ToMi;  OF  CirLE\NO  de'  Medici,  ry  Michael  Ancit.o        .         .       96 

From  a  pliotograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  05,  97,  224,   JS4,  255,  302. 

9.  The  Soldier's  Retckn.     Relief  on  Monlmi.ni  near  Bincen       97 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  ptges  ')-.  225,  242,  270,  2S4. 

10.  Epitomised  Story  01    F-aac,  Jacor,  and  Fsac,  Relief  from 

iJAi'iisiRY  .-vr  Florence         .......       9S 

Front  a  photograph  of  en.;raving.      Mentioned  on  pages  97,  225. 

11.  Cave  oi'  Flelhan  lA,  India        .......       99 

From  a  sketch  in  water-colour.       Mentioned  on  page  97. 

12.  CiiiEi  s'  lIor^Es,  Ivi.Ri'iTNA,  A'  >rRAi.iv    .....     100 

From  Cassell's  "  Picturesque  Australia.''      Mcjitioned  on  page  99. 

13.  Piirj-rocRAiTiic  EiFEcr  of  Cir\t:d  Plaiform  and  Coi.fmn  of 

I'ARrilENoX       ..........        lOI 

From   I'll,-  Ay,  hilcclin-,U  I\,-( ortl.      Mentioned  on  jiage  102, 

14.  OrncvL  lLLFr,ioNri  Caused  ry   Finf^  Arranofd  as  in   Pedi- 

MENIn 102 

From  the  same.     Mentioned  on  iiages  102,   1  .3. 


XVI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


15.  Photographic   Effect   of   Cornice  Curve  ix  the  Maisox 

Carree  .......... 

From  the  same,  drawn  by  J.  W.  McKecknie.      Mentioned   on  pages  103 
126,  279. 

16.  Maisox  Carree,  Showing  Cornice  Curve 

From  the  same,  drawn  by  J.  W.  McKecknie.      Mentioned  on   pages  103 
106. 

17.  Jewish  Cemetery,  by  J-  Ruysdakl  ..... 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  120. 

18.  Card  Pl.vyers.  i;y  Caravaggio  ..... 

From  a  photograph  of  engraving.      Mentioned  on  pages  123,  192,  243. 

19.  ScrLPTTRED  Group  of  the  Laocoox    .... 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  123,  193,  224,  295,  310. 

20.  A  Summer's  Evening,  rv  \"an  Pjekrs         .... 

From  a  photograph  with  permission  of   C.   T.  Yerkes.     Mentioned  on 
page  123. 

21.  UxiVFRSUrY  AT  SYDNEY,    AUSTRALIA 

From  Cassell's  "  Picturesque  Australia."      Mentioned  on  pages  126,  252 
310. 

22.  The  School  ok  Athens,  by  Raphael       .... 

From   a  photograph   of  engraving.      Mentioned  on   pages  166,  259,  284 
2S5,  316. 

23.  The  Apollo  PiElvedere     ....... 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  170,   i7t,  242,  243,  290. 

24.  Farxese  Hercules,  by  Clycox  the  .Vthexiax 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  214,  215. 

25.  Melrose  Abbey  ........ 

From  Fergusson's  "  History  of  Architecture."      Mentioned  on  pages  214, 
215,  219,  261. 

26.  Flying  Mercury,  by  Giovanni  da  Bologna    . 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  214,  215,  242. 

27.  Church  near  Kostroma,  Russia      ..... 

From  Fergusson's  "  History  of  Architecture."     Mentioned  on  pages  214, 
215,  219. 

23.   Temple  of  ^-Echna 

From  the  same.     Mentioned  on  pages  98,  219,  222,  225,  251,  252,  279,  290, 
341. 

29.  Houses  of  Parliament,  England,  from  Old  Palace  Yard    . 

From  a  piiotograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  126,  219,  222,  29D. 

30.  Fines  Expressive  of  Storm,  by  Walter  Crane 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  of  Art.      Mentioned  on  pages  222,  279. 

31.  Fines  Expressive  of  Repose,  by  Walter  Crane 

From  the  same.      Mentiijned  on  pages  222,  279. 

32.  Pavilion  of  Richelieu,  Palace  oi'  the  Fouvre,  Paris  . 

From  Cassell's  "  'J  he  World  and  its  Cities."      Mentioned  on  pages  225, 
341- 


104 


122 
123 
125 

127 

167 

170 
215 
2I(^ 

217 
21S 

219 

220 
221 
223 
225 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


261, 279,  290, 293, 


33.  Cologne  Cathedral  .... 

Frcim  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  225,  251 
317.  341. 

34.  St.  Mark's,  Venice 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pages  126,  222,  225,  252,  279,  293,  296 
302. 

35.  Marien  Platz,  Munich 

From  Cassell's  "  Chats  about  (lermany."      Mentioned  on  page  225. 

36.  The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery,  by  N.  I'oussin    . 

From   Cassell's   .^fagazine   o/  Art.     Mentioned   on  pages   193,234,  236 
240,  241,  290. 

37.  The  Death  oe  Ananias.     Cartoon  my  Raphael     . 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  pares   169,    193,   234,   236,  240,   243, 
251,  284,  290,  316,  317. 

3S.  Sideward  Fin(;kr  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.   Rosenkranz.      ]\Ientioned  on  pages  234,  237. 

39.  Reelection         ......... 

From  a  drawing  by  Maud  Stumm.      Mentioned  on  pages  235,  241. 

40.  Downward  Closin(;  (Gesture    ...... 

From  a  dr.awing  by  C.  C.  Rosenkranz.      Mentioned  on  page  235. 

41.  Downward  Opening  Gesture  ...... 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.      Mentioned  on  pages  235,  238, 

42.  Balanced  Backward  Movement  wn  h  Closing  Gesture 

Frnm  a  drawing  by  the  same.     Mentioned  on  p.ages  236,  292. 

43.  Pedant's  TROPosniuN  OF  Marri.\ge.    Et(iiingi!y  D.  Chodo 

wi:cki      .......... 

From  Cassell's  Magazine  0/ Art.     Mentioned  on  pages  238,  239,  243. 

44.  Upward  Opening  Gesture 

From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.  Rosenkranz.     Mentioned  on  pages  239,  243 

45.  Upward  Closing  Gesture         ..... 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.      Mentioned  on  pages  239,  242,  292 

46.  An  Aitack  ........ 

From  a  drawing  by  the  same.     Mentioned  on  ))agL-s  241,  243. 

47.  Boy  Surprised   ........ 

From  a  drawing  by  Ma\id  Stumni.     Mentioned  nn  jiages  241,  242,  243. 

48.  TiSSINliTON  SlMKES,    l-^NCLAND 

From  Cassell's  "Our  Own  Country."      .Mcntinn.td  on  l).'iges  244,  246. 

49.  REI'OsE  IN   l.ANDSC.JiPE  AM)  l''|i;URK,    ]!V   WaLTKR  CkANE 

Frnm  Cassell's  Magaz/ii,-  ,>/  .  I  rt.      Mentioned  .111  pa-e  248. 

50.  Lines  Ili.usi  rai  i\  !■;  01   .Vi  tion,  i:^'  \\ai,ti;k  Civ.vne 

T'roin  the  same.       .Mentioned  ou  page  .!,-> 

51.  InTEIUDR  OF  l!l-.VERTi;V  M  INM  TR,   ]-",n(;land 

T'roiu  a  ijlKjtograpli.     Mentioned  c,n  pa^'es  9'^,  .:52,  310. 

52.  PouTDi;  'I'emple,  Num. ]■(),  China        .... 

From  a  photograph,   .Meiuioned  on  pages  99,  277,  280,  jgO. 


I'AGH 
226 


229 
231 

233 

235 
235 
236 
236 
237 

238 
239 
239 
241 
241 
245 

249 
266 

2S0 


xvni  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGH 

53.  1"hk  Taj  Mahal,  India 281 

From  a  photograph.     Mentioned  on  pages  2.1.1,  280,  273,  206,  302. 

54.  The  TRAXSKiGrKA  iioN,  i!v  RaPiI  \Ki,  .....     289 

From  a  photograpli.     Mentioned  on  pages  242,  288,  295,  29S. 

55.  Small  Hol'SE      ..........     291 

From  Palliser,   Palliser,    &  Co.,  Architects,  New   York.     Mentioned  on 
pages  293,  302. 

56.  WiLLKSUEX  Church,  near  Londu.v,  England.         .         .         .     292 

From  Cassell's  "  (jreater  London."      Mentioned  on  pages  293,  302. 

57.  The  Decline  of  Carthaih:,  uy  Turner  .....     309 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  308. 

58.  Lines  in  Proportion  ........     337 

From  a  dra\vin_'.     Mentioned  on  pages  337,  338. 

59.  Lines  Si:i!i)i\'iDEi)  TO  Indicate  Proi'ortion      ....     338 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  338. 

60.  Type  of  an  Assyrian  Si,)Uare   .......     338 

From  Cassell's  HIngazu!e  0/  Ait.     Mentioned  on  pages  340,  341. 

61.  Chichesier  Cathedral,  England    ......     339 

From  Cassell's  "Our  Own  Country."      Mentioned  on  page  340. 

62.  EiGUREs  WITH  Lines  Suiidin  ided  to  Indicate  Proportion      .     340 

From  a  drawing.     Menti')ued  on  pages  103,  341. 

63.  Rectangles  IN  Proi'dkiion        .......     341 

Frcjiii  a  drawing.     Mentioned  im  page  341. 

64.  EiGUREs  Related  because  In>>cribable  in  the  Same  Square  .     342 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  ^42. 

65.  Figures  Related  because  Inscribable  in  the  Same  Rectangle    342 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  342. 

66.  Relationship  of  Eigures  as  Indicated  and  not  Indk  aied  .     342 

From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  pages  342,  343. 

67.  EiGUREs  Related  because  Inscripable  in  Figures  in   Pro- 

poriton 342 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  343. 

68.  Chateau  de  Randau,  Vichy,  France       .....     343 

From  a  photograph.      Mentioned  on  page  343. 

69.  Walker  Museum,  Chica(;o  University  .....     344 

From  the  Costj'opulitaii  MiH^azine.      Mentioned  on  page  344. 

70.  Lines  and  Cur\  es  Indkaitni;  Proi'oritons     ....     345 

Drawn    about   a    form    in    Putnam's   "  Handbook   of    Figure    Drawing." 
Menli(jned  on  pages  344,  350,  336. 

71.  Costumes  Dividing  Human  P'ORMs  Proportionately      .         .     346 

From  a  drawing  by  C.  C.  Kosenkranz.      Mentioned  on  page  344. 

72.  CoSrU.MKS   NOT   DiXIDING    IlUMAN   FoKMS   ProPOK  IKJN  A  TELY  .       346 

From  a  dr.u\  ing  by  the  same.      Mentioned  on  page  344. 


ILL  US  TRA  TIONS  xix 


PAGE 

73.  Front  Face  Divided  Propoktionately  by  Lines    .         .         .     347 

Drawn  over  a  face  in  Putnam's  "  Art  Handbook."      Mentioned  on  pages 

345-349- 

74.  Side  Face  Divided  Proportionately  ky  Lines        .         .         .     347 

Drawn  over  a  face  in  Putnam's  "  Art  Handbook.''      Mentioned  on  pages 
348,  349- 

75.  Facial  Division.s 348 

Drawn  over  a  photograph   in    The  Dramatic  Mirror.      Mentioned  on 
pa§es  348,  349. 

76.  Facial  Divisions 348 

Drawn   over   a   p'notograph  in    'fSie  Drantati,    Mirror.     Mentioned  on 
pages  348,  34g. 

77.  ClRCLKS    iLl.rSTRATINO    P'lELD    OF    DISTINCT    ViSION    FOR     BOTH 

Eyes  looEiirER      .........     351 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  351. 

78.  Vases  Oi'tlined  by  Ellitses  and  Segments  of  Circles  .     353 

Drawn    about    forms    suggested     in     Hay's    "  Ornamental     Geometric 
Designs."      Mentioned  on  page  355. 

79.  BuiLDiNc;  Enclosed  between  Circles 354 

From  a  drawing.    Mentioned  on  pages  222,  25*,  261,  290,  293,  296,  302,  355. 

80.  Woman's  Form  Enclosed  between  Circles     ....     355 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  on  page  355. 

8r.  Wom.\n's  Form  Enclosed  between  Like  Circles    .         .         .     356 

From  a  drawing.      Mentioned  nn  page  356. 

82.  Circles  Drawn  ABorr  A  Form  IN  (  Iraceful  Action        ,         .     357 
From  a  drawing.     Mentioned  on  page  356. 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .T:STHETICS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

NATURE,    ART,    AND    ITXE    ART. 

Introduction — Art  i>  a  >[etho(l — Artlessness  and  Art  Illuitrated — Differing 
not  a^  Originality  from  Imitation,  nor  as  tlit;  Natural  from  the  Unnat- 
i;ral  —  Rut  a>  an  Immediate  E\])icssion  of  Natural  Instinct  front  that 
of  Human  IntelliL;ence — Art-i'roducts  not  Creations  but  Rearransjje- 
ments  of  Nature — And  also  l\c>uhs  that  are  Distincti^■ely  Human — 
'Ihe  l^'ine  or  Hiyher  Arts — I  )isiinL;uished  from  Others  hv  lielongint; 
Most  l-'inely  and  Distinctively  to  Nature — Therefore  Emphasising 
Natural  Ajipearanccs  —  j-orm  Ivssential  to  tlie  Higher  Arts — Different 
Classes  of  These — Study  of  Nature  lessen! ial  to  Success  in  Rroducing 
Them — Arts  that  are  Most  Eiuel\-  and  I  )istinctivel\-  Human  Address 
and  I'^xpress  Intellect  through  Sound  or  Sight  —  Human  as  Distin- 
guished from  Animal  —  Expres>ion  as  Developed  from  Rossession  of 
Human  \'ocal  <  )rgans  and  HamK — The  Higher  Arts  are  also  in  the 
Most  I'ine  and  Distinctive  Seu--e  Made — How  to  Class  Landscape- 
Cardening,  Decoration,  I)aucing,  I'antoniime,  Elocution,  and  Dra- 
matics— Tlie  Humanitie> — l-'xternal  I'roducts  Necessitated  in  Music — 
I'oetr}' — I'aintiiig  and  Sculpture — And  in  .\rchitecture. 

T/' XOWLKDCjE  in  this  world  i^rows  by  way  of  accre- 
tion. In  order  to  be  sure  about  many  thing's  that 
we  fail  to  know,  it  is  necessary  to  start  with  a  few  thinij^s 
that  we  tlo  know,  and  to  these  (c\v  add  and  relate  the 
others  in  such  a  way  that  the  connections  between  all 
^liall  seem  inevitable.      In  accordance  with  this  princi[)le, 


2  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  JESTIIETICS. 

let  US  begin  the  discussions  of  tliis  volume  with  certain 
facts  concerning  art  which,  if  not  usually  known,  will  at 
least  be  readily  recognised  to  be  true  the  moment  that 
they  are  stated. 

When  we  say  that  a  man  has  a)i  art  or  tJic  art  of  pro- 
ducing effects  of  any  kind,  we  mean  that  his  words  or 
deeds  manifest  a  certain  method.  Works  of  art  are  pro- 
ducts revealing  this  method.  They  may  not  reveal  it  to 
a  first  glance;  they  must  to  careful  inspection.  Other- 
wise none  could  distinguish  them  from  other  v/orks  and 
designate  them  by  a  special  term. 

What  is  this  method?  A  child  talks  to  us  with  grace  in 
her  movements  and  sweetness  in  her  voice,  and  we  admire 
what  we  term  her  artlcssiiess.  A  grown  woman,  an  act- 
ress, perhaps,  produces  almost  identical  effects  that  seem 
equally  pleasing,  but  what  we  admire  in  her  we  term  her 
art.  WHiat  is  the  difference  between  an  absence  of  art 
and  a  presence  of  art,  as  indicated  in  these  two  cases? 

We  cannot  fully  answer  this  question  by  saying  merely 
that  the  child's  actions  appear  to  be  spontaneous  or  orig- 
inal,  and  that  the  woman's  appear  to  be  imitative.  The 
very  actions  of  the  child  which  the  grown  person  imitates 
may  themselves  be  imitative.  What  the  woman  does  that 
is  different  from  the  action  of  the  child  is  to  produce 
the  imitations  according  to  a  different  method.  Nor  can 
we  answer  the  question  by  saying  that  the  child's  actions 
are  natural ixnd  the  woman's  jiiniatural.  Very  often,  that 
which  most  pleases  us  in  the  woman  is  the  fact  that  her 
actions  are  similar  in  form  to  those  of  nature.  Yet  we 
term  the  result  art  because  w^e  recognise  that  they  are 
produced  not  according  to  the  method  of  nature — in  this 
case,  of  a  child's  nature, — but  according  to  a  different 
method. 


4  THE   ESSEXTIALS   OF  A-lSrilE  TICS. 

In  what  now  consists  this  difference  in  method?  Is  it 
not  in  this?  We  know  that  a  mature  woman's  natural 
instincts  would  never  prompt  her  to  express  herself  in 
the  child's  way;  and  that  therefore  her  childish  words 
and  deeds,  while  expressions  natural  enough  to  a  very 
young  person,  are  not  so  to  one  of  her  age.  They  are 
expressions,  therefore,  of  something  which  nature  has 
presented  to  her,  and  which  she  re-presents  to  us.  As 
the  result,  which  we  term  arf,  is  a  combination  of  what 
comes,  in  the  first  place,  from  /latnrr,  and,  in  the  second 
place,  from  a  Iiui/iaii  being  exercising  the  distinctive  traits 
of  the  human  mind,  we  may  say  that,  in  this  case  at  least, 
art  is  nature  Diadc  Iiniiiaii.  The  term  )iaturL\  as  used 
thus,  is  to  be  understood  as  including  not  only  non- 
human  but  human  nature,  so  far  as  a  man's  actions  or 
utterances  are  produced  instinctively,  as  we  say,  and 
therefore  are  not  a  result  of  conscious  hunnan  intelligence 
or  contrivance.  The  term  hiiinaii  is  to  be  understood  as 
applying  to  every  effect  that  is  produceil  as  a  result  of 
conscious  human  intelligence  or  contrivance;  and  made  is 
to  be  understood  as  including  all  such  ideas  as  might  be 
expressed  specificalh-  b}'  terms  like  shaped,  arraii^i^ed,  ap- 
plied, combined,  res/iaped,  rea?-ran^ii'ed.  reapplied,  reeom- 
bined.  or,  to  repeat  the  term  already  used,  re-presenfed. 

But  is  not  what  has  been  affirmed  of  one  illustration  of 
art  true  in  all  cases?  In  the  first  place,  are  not  all  art- 
products  necessarily  reproductions  of  that  which  nature 
furni.Thes,  though,  of  course,  in  different  degrees  and 
ways?  A  man  can  absolutely  create  nothing.  lie  can 
merely  put  into  new  shapes  and  use  with  new  combina- 
tions and  applications  that  which  already  exists  in  the 
world  about  him.  Every  one  must  have  noticed  the 
unmistakable  absence  of  any  appearances  that  fail  to  re- 


NATURE   AND   ART.  5 

scmble  tho.sc  of  the  earth  in  all  attempts  on  the  part  of 
men  to  picture  spiritual  beings  or  a  place  of  spiritual  ex- 
istence. In  poems  and  dramas,  the  characters  repre- 
sented, although  Homeric  gods  or  Miltonic  angels,  speak 
and  act  in  ways  showing  that  the  artist's  ideas  concerning 
them  have  been  modelled  upon  forms  natural  to  men  and 
women  of  this  world.  T-Lven  in  music  and  architecture, 
the  principle  holds  good,  though  in  a  niore  subtle  way. 
There  would  be  no  melodies  if  it  were  not  for  the  natural 
songs  of  meii  and  birds  or  for  wXvaX.  are  called  "the  voices 
of  nature";  nor  would  there  be  buildings  were  there  not 
in  nature  rocks  and  trees  furnishing  walls  and  columns 
and  water-sheds,  to  say  nothing  of  the  innumerable  forms 
suggested  by  the  trunks,  branches,  leaves,  flowers,  and 
other  natural  figures  which  architectural  details  unmis- 
takably imitate. 

In  the  second  place,  is  it  not  true  that  in  all  cases  art 
results  from  influences  that  have  been  exerted  upcMi 
nature  by  man  as  the  possessor  of  a  huiiiaii  mind /  A 
choice  specimen  of  a  coral  is  not  a  work  of  art,  because 
it  is  produced  by  a  i^ol\'[x  Neither  is  the  universe  as  a 
\vh(jle,  nor  anx'thing  in  it  that  merely  grows  to  be  what 
it  is,  because  this  is  attributable  to  the  .Vlmighty. 

In  this  book",  we  are  to  deal  not  with  all  the  products 
of  art,  but  with  a  particular  class  of  them,  to  some  of 
which,  among  other  terms,  that  of  the  fine  arts,  and  to 
all  of  which  the  term  the  arts  is  applied.  These  terms 
indicate  that  tliose  who  first  used  them  intended  them 
to  refer  to  products  manifesting  j)articularly  fine  and  dis- 
tinctively artistic  (jualities.  What  products  are  those 
which,  in  the  most  fine  and  distinctix'c  sense,  ma\'  be  saitl 
to  belong  t(j  laitiire,  to  be  f/iiiaaii,  and  to  be  iiiaile  / 

h'irst,    what   products   may   lie    said   to    belong,    in    the 


6  TJIE   ESSENTIALS    OF  .ESTHETICS. 

most  fine  and  distinctive  sense,  to  nature?  ?^Iust  they 
not  be  those,  which,  other  things  considered,  appear  to 
be  the  least  changed  from  the  state  in  which  the\-  are 
found  in  nature?  As  a  first  step  toward  the  discovery  of 
these,  notice  that  all  possible  art-products  can  be  divided 
into  two  classes-— those  in  which  appearances,  whether  of 
nature  or  of  any  kind,  are  not  essential,  and  those  in 
which  they  are  essential.  In  the  former  class  we  may 
place  all  those  compounds  and  constructions,  from  the 
lightest  fluids  and  fibres  to  the  heaviest  instruments  and 
machines,  which  belong  to  what  are  termed,  when  chief 
reference  is  made  to  the  motive,  the  useful  arts  ;  when 
to  the  method,  the  operati:'c  or  mechanical  arts ;  and 
when  to  the  effect,  the  tcchnic  or  applied  arts.  In  the 
class  contrasted  with  these — the  class  in  which  the  appear- 
ance or  the  outward  effect  upon  the  eye  or  ear  is  of  chief 
importance — belong  what  are  termed,  when  chief  refer- 
ence is  made  to  the  motive,  the  ornaiiioital  arts  ;  when 
to  the  method,  the  arts  of  design  ;  and  when  to  the  effect, 
the  (esthetic  arts.  In  a  general  way,  these  arts  may  be 
said  to  include  all  products,  alike  in  kind,  that  range  be- 
tween a  carved  penholder  and  a  palace,  between  a  jew's- 
harp's  humming  and  an  overture.  Of  course,  in  certain 
regards,  the  ;esthetic  arts  may  be  as  useful  as  any  that 
are  termed  useful;  but  the  aesthetic  utility  is  alwa\'s  such 
as  produces  not  a  material  but  a  mental  result,  and  even 
no  mental  result  except  indirectly  through  an  effect  upon 
the  senses. 

In  all  aesthetic  art,  form  is  an  essential  characteristic. 
The  word  is  from  the  Latin  forma,  meaning  an  appear- 
ance, used  in  the  sense  of  an  outward  effect  produced 
upon  the  eye  or  the  ear;  and,  in  this  sense,  is  applied 
especially  to  what   presents  a  tlefinitely  outlined  or  con- 


CLASSIFICATION   OF  ARTS.  7 

Crete  effect.  All  art-products,  in  one  sense,  have  form, 
but  only  in  the  degree  in  which  the  appearance  or  out- 
ward efTect  is  essential  can  we  say  that  form  is  essential. 

This  statement  implies — what  needs  to  be  noticed  next 
— that  there  are  different  degrees  and  classes  among  the 
aesthetic  arts.  I  louse-painting  cannot  rank  as  high  as 
landscape-painting  nor  masonry  as  sculpture.  What  are 
the  characteristics  of  the  products  for  which  we  are  in 
search — of  products  which,  in  the  finest  and  most  distinc- 
tive sense,  are  those  of  nature?  The  very  phraseology  of 
the  cjuestion  answers  it.  They  are  the  products  which 
have  forms  or  appearances  the  most  like  those  of  nature, 
products  which  we  could  unmistakably  define  di'^,  forms  of 
nature  made  human.  Unfigured  silk,  however  orna- 
mental, is  not  one  of  these  products  because  it  is  not,  or 
has  not,  necessarily,  an  appearance  in  any  sense  attribut- 
able to  nature  ;  nor  is  a  steam-engine,  however  elaborately 
its  parts  ma\-  be  mounted  and  polished.  To  have  a  form 
of  nature,  outward  effects  upon  the  eye  or  ear  must  sug- 
gest, like  the  carving  of  a  man's  head,  the  picture  of  a 
tree,  the  dialogue  of  a  drama,  the  bird-trill  of  a  song, 
certain  outward  effects  of  nature  upon  which  they  have 
been  modelled.  Only  to  classes  of  products  containing 
suggestions  like  these  can  terms  like  the  fine  arts  ox  the 
arts  be  applied  by  way  of  distinction. 

That  this  is  so  seems  to  be  universally  recognised  in 
practice  at  least,  if  not  in  theory.  Who  does  not  ac- 
knowledge that  one  characteristic  of  all  great  artists, 
especially  of  those  who  are  leaders  in  their  art,  is  the 
faithful  study  that  they  give  to  nature.  We  nia\'  not 
admire  the  social  customs  of  ancient  (irccce  that  allowed 
its  scul[)tors  frecjucnt  op])i)rtunitics  to  observe  the  un- 
clothed forms  of  both  sexes;   we  mav  sluiiik  from  bcliev- 


8  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTHETICS. 

ing  the  story  of  a  (iiiido  iiuirdering  his  model  in  order  to 
prepare  for  a  picture  of  the  crucifixion;  or  of  a  David 
coolly  sketching  the  faces  of  his  own  friends  when  they 
were  put  to  death  amid  the  horrors  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution; yet,  in  all  these  cases,  there  is  an  artistic  lesson 
accompanying  the  moral  warning.  It  was  not  in  vain 
that  IMorland's  easel  was  constantly  surrounded  by  repre- 
sentatives of  the  lower  classes;  that  Hogarth  always  had 
his  pencil  with  him  on  the  streets  and  in  the  coffee- 
houses; or  that,  morning  after  morning,  Corot's  canvas 
caught  its  colours  before  the  eastern  sky  grew  bright  with 
sunlight.  Or,  if  we  turn  to  literature,  it  is  not  an  insig- 
nificant fact  that  Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries 
who  gave  form  to  the  modern  drama,  as  well  as  Goethe, 
who  records  in  his  "  Wahrheit  und  Dichtung  "  the  way  in 
which  he  spent  his  youth  in  Frankfort  and  his  age  in 
Weimar,  were  for  years  the  associates  of  both  audiences 
and  actors  in  city  theatres;  or  that  Fielding,  who  gave 
form  to  the  modern  novel,  was  the  justice  of  a  police 
court.  High  art  distinctively  involves  the  use  of  a  form 
of  nature — a  form  of  this  in  the  sense  of  being  perceptible 
in  the  real  world,  or,  at  least,  of  being  suggested  by  what 
is  perceptible  there. 

Now  let  us  ask  what  arts  can  be  said  to  be,  in  the 
highest  and  most  distinctive  sense,  Iiuiiiaii.  These,  of 
course,  must  be  those  with  the  production  of  which  men 
associate  the  highest  results  of  human  intelligence.  As 
a  rule,  they  do  not  associate  such  results  witli  any  pro- 
duct— no  matter  how  much  it  may  suggest  of  ornament, 
design,  or  aesthetics — which  appeals  to  attention  through 
merely  one  of  the  lower  senses  of  touch,  taste,  or  smell. 
The  arts  addressing  or  expressing  that  in  man  which  is 
most    finely    and    distinctively    intellectual    and    spiritual 


THE   HUMAN  HV  ART.  9 

are  usually  conceded  to  be  those  alone  that  appeal  to 
either  sii^ht  or  hearin<^. 

liut  even  from  these  arts,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  con- 
ditions, those  products  must  be  excluded  which  cannot 
be  clearly  attributed  to  a  huiiiaii  being  as  distinguished 
from  an  animal.  In  trying  to  determxine  exactly  what 
these  products,  and  the  classes  to  which  they  belong, 
are,  it  would  evidently  be  illogical  to  start  by  theorising 
with  reference  to  such  subtle  differences  as  are  dependent 
upon  internal  mental  conditions  or  capacities.  These 
differences  can,  at  best,  be  only  indirectly  inferred. 
iVctual  observation  never  starts  with  them;  and  we 
should  start  where  it  starts,  namely,  with  something 
directly  perceptible,  which  itself  is  the  occasion  of  their 
being  inferred — with  something  belonging,  therefore,  not 
to  the  hidden  psychical  but  to  the  perceptible  physical 
nature.  What  then  are  the  physical  differences — not  all 
of  them  but  those  connected  with  the  reproduction  of 
effects  of  sound  and  sight — which  distinguish  the  human 
from  the  merely  animal  body? 

The  question  is  readily  answered.  They  are  the  vocal 
or;^aus  and  the  /lands.  A  man  can  produce  such  varia- 
tions of  intonation  and  articulation  as  to  enable  him  to 
represent  in  a  definite  vocal  form  well-nigh  every  object 
of  thought  and  phase  of  feeling.  He  can,  therefore, 
select  for  imitation  such  sounds  of  nature,  or  can  originate 
such  sounds,  as  are  appropriate  for  expression,  and  he 
can  use  these  as  in  language.  The  bird  can  sing  and  the 
beast  can  roar;  but  neither  can  do  both;  nor  is  there  any 
proof  that  either  is  in  the  habit  of  producing  new  sounds 
in  order  to  indicate  newh'  discovered  distinctions  between 
thoughts  or  feelings.  Again,  the  structure  of  a  man's 
hand  is  such  tint  there  is  hardlv  anv  limit  to  the  varietv 


lO  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .^ESTHETICS. 

of  objects  that  he  can  make.  Therefore,  he  can  select 
for  reproduction  such  phases  of  the  products  of  nature 
appeah'ng  to  sight  as  are  appropriate  for  expression : 
and  he  can  so  vary  the  objects  that  he  makes  as  to  cause 
them  to  be  very  differently  expressive,  liut  the  animals 
cannot  with  their  mouths,  beaks,  paws,  or  claws  construct 
a  single  written  character  or  picture  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  indicate  clearly  any  particular  thought  or  any  particu- 
lar scene  suggesting  it.  They  can  scarcely  construct  even 
an  implement  or  a  machine  showing  unmistakably  that 
it  was  designed  to  be  a  means  of  accomplishing  an  end 
conceivable  only  as  a  result  of  a  consecutive  and  compli- 
cated mental  process.  Our  general  conclusion  here  must 
be  that  those  arts  are  in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive 
sense  human  which,  in  some  way,  are  connected  with  ex- 
pression through  the  use  of  the  human  voice  and  hands. 

There  is  one  further  question  to  be  answered  before  all 
that  is  suggested  in  the  definition  of  art  as  nature  made 
human  has  been  considered.  The  question  is  this:  What 
products  of  nature  connected  with  expression  through 
the  use  of  voice  or  hands  can  be  said,  in  the  fmest  and 
most  distinctive  sense,  to  be  made/  Of  course,  the 
answer  must  be  that  they  are  such  products  as  reveal 
most  clearly  that  they  are  not  the  sole  results  either  of 
material  growth  or  of  mental  impulse;  in  other  words, 
either  of  natural  formation  or  of  natural  human  expres- 
sion through  the  use  of  voice  or  hands.  This  distinction 
will  show  us  why  it  is  that  landscape-gardening  and 
various  forms  of  what  is  termed  decorative  art,  which 
are  more  or  less  subordinated  to  the  methods  of  natural 
formation  in  the  material  world;  and  also  dancing,  pan- 
tomime, oratorical  delivery,  and  dramatic  representation, 
which  are  more  or  less  subordinated  to  methods  of  natural 


ARTS  NECESSITATING  EXTERNA  I   PRODUCTS.       II 

expression  through  the  use  of  the  human  body,  are  not 
usually  put  into  the  same  class  as  music,  poetry,  paint- 
ing, sculpture,  and  architecture.  At  the  same  time,  all 
the  arts  just  mentioned  have  many  features  in  common, 
and  any  thorough  treatment  of  the  last  five  must  involve 
some  treatment  of  the  others.  For  one  thing,  they  all 
belong  to  the  class  which  is  termed  "the  humanities." 
That  is  to  say,  they  all  are  arts  through  which  a  man  can 
cause  forms,  otherwise  often  merely  material  in  their  in- 
fluence, to  thrill  and  glow  with  emotion  and  meaning; 
through  which  he  can  show  himself  able  to  breathe,  as  it 
were,  something  of  that  sympathetic  and  intellectual  life 
which  has  already  given  humanity  to  his  own  material 
frame. 

I\  few  words  more  may  be  needed  in  order  to  make  clear 
to  the  reader  in  what  sense  it  is  true,  as  just  intimated, 
that  the  particular  arts  of  music,  poetry,  painting,  sculp- 
ture, and  architecture,  besides  being  developed  from 
natural  appearances,  and  from  methods  of  human  expres- 
sion through  the  use  of  voice  and  hands,  necessitate  a 
product  which,  in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive  sense, 
may  be  said  to  be  made,  i.  c,  a  product  external  to  one- 
self. Notice  this,  first,  as  exemplified  in  music.  Cannot 
a  man  sing  without  constructing  a  product  external  to 
himself?  Certainly  he  can,  and  so  can  a  bird;  but  if  a 
man  could  do  no  more,  he  could  do  nothing  entitling 
music  to  be  placed  in  a  class  different  from  that  to  which 
elocution  and  dramatic  representation  belong.  A  melody 
is,  in  the  finest  and  most  distinctive  sense,  a  natural  ioxxw 
made  human  in  the  degree  alone  in  which  it  is  unmistak- 
ably a  product  of  the  art  of  music.  What  is  such  a  pro- 
duct? \  composition  that  is  a  result  of  labour  and 
l)ractice.      Aside   from   its  usually    involving  an   external 


12  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .'ESTHETICS. 

writing  in  musical  notation,  it  is  a  development  of  a 
complicated  s}-stem  of  producing  notes  and  scales  and 
chords,  not  only  with  the  human  voice,  but  with  numerous 
instruments,  invented,  primarily,  so  as  to  imitate  every 
possibility  of  the  human  voice,  all  these  working  together 
in  accordance  with  subtle  laws  which,  as  a  result  of  years 
of  experiment,  men  have  discovered  and  learned  to  apply. 
Humming  might  be  called  a  form  of  natural  expression, 
therefore,  of  nature  as  manifested  in  a  man;  but  a  sym- 
phon\-  is  more  than  this.  It  is  a  very  elaborate  develop- 
ment of  the  form  in  which  the  man  has  hummed.  It 
involves,  therefore,  especially  in  connection  with  the 
necessity  for  a  written  score  and  for  manufactured  in- 
struments, the  existence  and  elaboration  of  that  which  is 
possible  to  only  an  external  product. 

Similar  facts  are  true  of  poetry.  A  man  like  an  animal 
could  express  his  actual  wants  in  a  few  different  sighs, 
cries,  grunts,  and  hisses.  But  from  these  he  develops, 
in  their  various  forms,  the  innumerable  words  and  phrases 
that  render  possible  the  nice  distinctions  of  language. 
These  words  and  phrases  are  often  freshly  invented  b)- 
the  poets,  and  the}-  are  almost  always  invented  as  a  result 
of  what  is  recognised  to  be  the  poetic  tendency  latent  in 
all  men.  As  for  poems  considered  as  wholes,  their  metres 
or  rhymes  are  never  produced  as  immediate  subjective 
utterances,  such  as  we  hear  in  ordinar\-  speech.  They 
are  always  the  work  of  the  imagination,  bringing  together 
the  results  of  experience  and  experiment,  according  to 
the  method  termed  composition.  In  other  words,  even 
aside  from  the  fact  that  they  are  usually  written  or 
printed,  but  necessarily  when  considered  in  connection 
with  this  fact,  they  evidently  involve  the  construction  of 
an  external  product. 


ARTS   NECESSITATING  EXTERNAL   PRODUCTS.       1 3 

Passing  on  to  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture, 
these  all  appeal  to  sight.  How  does  a  man  express  to 
sight  what  is  passing  in  his  mind?  Undoubtedly  by  his 
postures  and  the  gestures  of  his  hands,  feet,  head,  and 
countenance,  and  by  these  as  we  see  him  when  standing 
alone  not  only,  but  when  surrounded  by  other  persons 
and  things.  Postures  and  gestures,  though  never  as 
definitely  intelligible  as  the  sounds  of  the  voice,  are, 
nevertheless,  in  as  true  a  sense  natural  forms  of  com- 
municating thought  and  feeling;  and  may  be  developed 
into  the  subordinate  art  of  pantomime,  just  as  natural 
forms  of  utterance  in  sound  may  be  developed  into  the 
art  of  speech.  I^ut  pantomime  is  no  more  painting  or 
sculpture  than  speech  is  poetry.  It  is  when  a  man  be- 
comes so  attracted  and  charmed  by  the  methods  through 
which  he  naturally  expresses  thought  in  pantomime  that 
he  begins  to  make  an  external  product,  embodying 
thought  through  like  methods, — it  is  then  that  he  begins 
to  work  in  the  sphere  of  the  higher  arts.  Moreover, 
when  he  does  this,  he  does  not  pose  with  his  own  figure, 
as  in  dramatic  representation,  but  he  makes  other  figures 
pose — that  is  to  sa\-,  he  draws,  colours,  shapes,  and  com- 
bines the  different  parts  of  the  figures  of  other  men,  either 
alone,  or  in  connection  with  their  fellows  or  with  objects 
of  nature  animate  or  inanimate.  P)esides  this,  too,  very 
often,  without  making  use  of  an)-  hui^ian  figures,  lie  draws, 
cohjurs,  shapes,  or  combines  other  animate  or  inanimate 
objects.  In  other  words,  instead  of  conve}-ing  a  thought 
or  feeling  through  a  [iosture  of  his  own  body,  he  conve\'s 
it  through  re[)resenting  a  posture  in  a  pictured  man's 
body;  and  if  his  conception  have  reference  to  surround- 
ing persons  and  objects,  he  repi'csents  these  latter  as  sur- 
rounding the  picturetl   man; — clouds,  rain,  and  a  waste, 


14  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

for  instance,  if  his  idea  be  the  same  as  that  expressed  in 
lines  Hke  these  : 

The  clouds  have  broken  in  a  dreary  rain 
And  on  the  waste  I  stand  alone  with  heaven. 

Lady  of  Lyons  :  Buhucr. 

Or,  if  his  idea  involve  nothing  that  needs  to  be  repre- 
sented by  human  figures;  if  it  be  something  that  could 
be  conveyed  by  his  pointing  to  animate  or  inanimate  ob- 
jects, were  they  present  in  a  certain  location,  then  he 
leaves  the  human  figures  out  of  his  picture,  and  repro- 
duces merely  these  objects — darkness,  rain,  wind,  a  cling- 
ing vine,  and  dead  leaves,  for  instance,  if  his  idea  be  like 
that  expressed  in  the  following : 

The  day  is  dark  and  cold  and  dreary, 
It  rains  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
Tlie  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall. 

I'he  Rai)iy  Day  :   LoiigfelloTV. 

Paintings  and  statues  are  thus  external  products  that  are 
embodiments  of  distinctively  human  methods  of  expres- 
sion. 

All  that  has  been  said  may  be  acknowledged,  so 
far  as  the  statements  are  applied  to  products  of  painting 
and  sculpture.  But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  can  they  be 
applied  to  those  of  architecture?  The  external  character 
of  its  products  is,  of  course,  evident;  but  it  has  other 
characteristics,  which  cause  many  to  doubt  whether,  in 
important  regards,  it  does  not  differ  too  greatly  from 
music,  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  to  admit  of  its 
being  placed  in  the  same  class  with  them.  Under  all 
these  latter  arts,  it  is  said,  there  are  subjective  modes  of 
expression,  like  humming,  speaking,   and  gesturing.      Is 


ARCHITECTURE.  1 5 

it  SO  with  architecture?  Some  seem  to  doubt  this.  But 
why?  Architecture  certainly  represents  the  ideas  of  pro- 
tection, support,  and  shelter,  and  these  are  ideas  which 
it  is  by  no  means  impossible  or  unusual  to  represent,  as 
subjectively  experienced,  by  gestures.  But,  it  is  said 
again,  architecture  is  always  developed  from  an  external 
product, — a  dwelling.  ]^ut  is  not  the  same  true  of  the 
other  arts?  Artificial  resonant  sounds,  spoken  and  writ- 
ten language,  hieroglyphic  drawings  and  carvings  are 
conditions  that  antedate  music,  poetry,  painting,  orsculp- 
ture,  no  less  than  house-building  antedates  architecture. 
House-building,  moreover,  is  no  less  truly  a  form  of  nat- 
ural expression  than  are  these  others.  As  will  be  shown 
in  Chapter  VI.,  almost  all  the  different  architectural 
styles  of  which  we  know  were  developed  primarily  from  a 
tendency  to  imitate,  in  a  more  enduring  material,  the  ap- 
pearances of  structures  erected  by  the  primitive  man  in 
order  to  give  expression  to  his  nature,  exactly  as  does  the 
bird  or  the  beaver  when  constructing  his  nest  or  his  dam. 


CHAPTER    II. 

P.EAUTV. 

Limitations  in  the  Sights  and  Sounds,  the  Tlioughts  and  Emotions,  and  the 
External  Products  witli  whicli  Art  Can  Deal — Tlie  Sights  and  Sounds 
Must  Have  Interest,  Charm,  Beauty — Beauty  as  Attributed  to  Form  as 
p'orm — To  Form  as  an  Expression  of  Thoughts  or  Emotions — To  Both 
tliese  Sources  Combined— Examples — Complexity  of  Effect  Character- 
istic of  Beauty — In  Sounds — In  Lines  and  Colours — Besides  Complex- 
ity, Harmony  of  Effect  upon  the  Senses  is  Essential  in  Beauty  ; 
Produced  through  Like  or  Related  Mbrations  in  Tones  and  Colours — 
Through  Like  or  Related  Divisions  of  Time  or  Space  in  Rhythm  and 
Proportion — Unity  of  Effect  upon  the  Brain  Necessary  to  Beauty — 
Mind  Affected  Irrespective  of  the  Senses — Senses  Affected  froni  the 
Mind-side — Complexity  Even  in  Form  Recognised  and  Analysed  by 
the  Mind — Imagination  Frames  an  Image  as  a  Standard  of  Beauty — 
Mind  is,  therefore,  Affected  and  Active  when  lieauty  is  Recognised — 
Exemplified  in  Music — In  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight — What  is  Meant 
by  Harmony  of  P'.ffects  upoi:  the  Mind  in  Music  or  Poetry — In  Arts 
of  Sight — P'urther  Remarks  on  Complexity  and  Unity — Definition  ot 
Beauty — What  it  Leaves  Unexplained — Applies  to  Natural  as  well  as 
to  Artistic  Forms— To  Arts  of  Sound  as  well  as  of  Sight — Relation  of 
this  Definition  to  Other  Definitions — Taste — Its  Cultivation. 

TN  the  preceding  chapter  an  endeavour  was  made  to 
show  that  art  of  the  highest  or  finest  quality  in- 
volves three  things:  first,  a  reproduction  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  nature,  especially  of  its  sights  and  sounds; 
second,  an  expression  of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  of 
the  artist;  and,  third,  an  embodiment  of  both  these  other 
features  in  an  external  product  like  a  symphony,  a  poem, 

16 


THE   BEAUTIFUL.  1 7 

a  painting,  a  statue,  a  building.  The  question  now  arises 
whether  we  should  not  make  further  limitations  with 
reference  to  the  sights  or  sounds  of  nature  with  which  the 
highest  arts  have  to  deal,  with  reference  to  the  phases  of 
thought  and  emotion  which  they  express,  and  with  refer- 
ence to  that  which  characterises  their  products. 

The  question,  as  applied  to  sights  or  sounds,  suggests 
at  once  that  when  a  man,  not  for  a  useful  but,  in  accord- 
ance with  what  was  stated  on  page  6,  for  an  a3sthetic 
end,  reproduces  these,  he  must  do  so  mainly  because 
something  about  them  has  interested,  attracted,  and,  as 
we  say,  charmed  him.  There  is  one  word  that  we  are 
accustomed  to  apply  to  any  form,  whether  of  sight  or  of 
sound,  that  attracts  and  charms  us.  It  is  the  word  bcau- 
tifid.  We  may  sa\%  therefore,  that  the  highest  arts  re- 
produce such  outward  effects  of  nature  as  are  beautiful. 
For  a  sufficient  reason  then  did  the  Abbe  Du  Hos  in  1719, 
in  liis  "  Reflexions  Critique  sur  la  I'oesie  et  la  Peinture," 
first  apply  to  these  atts  the  term  "  Les  Beaux-Arts." 
Afterwards,  in  1793,  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture 
together  were  taught  in  h^rance  in  an  "  I'.cole  des  Beaux- 
Arts,"  and  music  was  added  to  these  wlicn  an  "Academic 
des  Beaux-Arts"  was  established.  Poetry  was  left  out; 
but  it  is  always  included  in  wliat,  in  our  own  country, 
as  well  as  in  Prance,  is  termed  "  Belles-Lettres."  To- 
day, everywhere,  it  seems  to  be  conceded  that  arts  of  the 
highest  class  should  re[)roduce  mainly,  at  least,  and  some 
seem  to  think  solel)',  such  phenomena  of  nature  as  are 
beautiful.  It  becomes  im[)ortant,  therefore,  for  us  to 
ask  here,  WHiat  is  beauty? 

All  inen  acknowledge  it  to  be  a  characteristic  of  form, 
but  they  differ  in  the  degree  in  which  they  consider  it 
this.      .Some,  for  instance,  attribute  it  to  form  considered 


l8  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  AESTHETICS. 

in  itself  alone;  and  there  is  some  justification  for  their 
theory.  As  ordinarily  used,  the  word  beautiful  fre- 
quently applies  to  that  which  exists  in  mere  appearances 
aside  from  any  thought  or  feeling  expressed  through 
them.  One  may  say  that,  to  men  generally,  fabrics  of  a 
single  hue  hanging  in  a  shop-window,  two  or  three  of 
different  hues  thrown  accidentally  together,  and  certain 
figures,  even  rooms,  on  account  sometimes  of  their 
colours,  sometimes  of  their  proportions,  sometimes  of 
both,  are  termed,  and  properly  termed,  beautiful.  When 
so  used,  the  word  does  not  refer  necessarily  to  any  human 
thought  or  feeling  that  men  recognise  as  being  suggested 
through  the  forms  or  b\'  them. 

At  other  times,  however,  the  word  seems  to  refer  to 
such  thoughts  or  feelings  almost  exclusively,  and  this 
gives  rise  to  the  theory  that  beauty  is  found  in  the  ex- 
pression of  these.  It,  too,  is  a  theory  not  without  justi- 
fication. Let  one  come  upon  a  woman  with  a  deformed 
figure  and  homely  countenance,  dressed  in  most  inhar- 
monious colours,  and  in  a  most  illy  proportioned  room; 
yet,  if  she  be  engaged  in  the  utterance  of  some  noble 
sentiment,  or  in  the  performance  of  some  sublime  act  of 
charity,  or  of  self-sacrifice,  the  expression  of  the  motive 
in  her  face  and  frame,  together  with  her  surroundings, 
may  be  so  accordant  with  the  demands  of  his  soul  as  to 
transfigure  the  mere  forms,  and  pre])are  him  to  believe 
and  to  sa}-  in  the  most  emphatic  way  that  he  has  seen 
what  is  beautiful. 

At  the  same  time,  probably,  most  men  will  be  willing 
to  admit  that  in  the  case  neither  of  the  fabric  nor  of  the 
woman  does  the  beauty  exhibited  manifest  all  the  ele- 
ments capable  of  rendering  it  complete.  They  recognise 
that  the  beauty  of  form   in   colours  or  outlines  could  be 


FIG.   3.  — LIGHT  AND  SHADE.     W.  CRANE. 
Sec  i>:i.L;t>  8'),  224. 


I 'J 


20  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

enhanced  by  supplementing  it  with  more  beauty  appeal- 
ing to  the  intellect,  and  that  the  beauty  of  expression  in 
the  deformed  woman  could  receive  a  more  harmonious 
setting  if  accompanied  by  more  beauty  of  colour  and 
outline.  So  far  as  appearances  appeal  to  one's  aesthetic 
nature,  it  is  preferable  to  see  a  beautiful  woman  doing  a 
beautiful  deed,  to  seeing  one  not  beautiful  doing  it.  It 
does  not  seem  to  be  true,  therefore,  that  beauty  can  be 
referred  exclusively  either  to  form,  or  to  significance  of 
which  the  form  is  the  expression. 

Notice  one  or  two  more  illustrations  of  this  fact. 
Queen  Louise  of  Prussia,  the  mother  of  the  first  Emperor 
William,  was  one  whose  form  and  face  were  of  such  a 
nature  that,  owing  solely  to  their  effects  upon  the  organs 
of  sight,  they  would  cause  almost  any  observer  of  ordin- 
ary taste,  however  ignorant  of  whom  or  of  what  she 
was,  to  declare  her  to  be  beautiful.  But,  behind  and 
above  the  attractions  of  her  mere  appearance,  this  gave 
expression  to  such  a  character,  to  such  mental  and  sym- 
pathetic traits,  that  none  of  her  own  family,  intimately 
acquainted  with  these,  would  have  been  willing  to  admit 
that  she  was  beautiful  to  others  in  as  deep  and  spiritual 
a  sense  as  to  themselves. 

Again,  there  are  certain  combinations  of  colours  and 
sounds,  say  a  flag  like  that  of  Italy  or  a  tune  like  the 
"Austrian  National  Hymn,"  the  effects  of  which,  in 
every  land,  without  something  to  interfere  with  the  nor- 
mal action  of  the  eye  or  ear,  are  recognised  to  be  beauti- 
ful. Yet  it  is  possible  that,  owing  to  certain  associations 
of  ideas,  or  to  certain  suggestions  excited  by  their  effects 
upon  the  mind,  the  indisputable  beauty  both  of  the  flag 
and  of  the  tune  may  fail  to  appeal  to  some.  Did  the 
Italian  flag  seem  beautiful  at  the  time  of  the   unification 


COMPLEXITY   OF  BEAUTY.  21 

of  Italy  to  the  adherents  of  the  Pope?  or  the  Austrian 
hymn  seem  so  to  the  Itahans  when  Austria  seemed  their 
oppressor? 

It  has  to  be  acknowiedged  that  these  illustrations 
merely  touch  the  surface  of  the  subject.  Nevertheless, 
they  contain  suggestions  that  are  important.  Notice 
particularly  the  suggestion  that  complexity  of  effects  is 
characteristic  of  beauty.  It  is  attributed,  in  each  in- 
stance, so  far  as  it  is  complete  and  ideal,  not  to  a  single 
effect,  as  to  one  upon  the  senses,  or  to  one  upon  the 
mind,  but,  necessaril)',  to  more  than  one,  often  to  many 
effects  conjointly  exerting  both  a  physical  and  a  psychical 
iiilluence.  In  view  of  this  fact,  we  are  naturally  prompted 
to  ask  whether  complexity  of  effects,  which,  so  far,  has 
been  treated  as  merely  incidental  to  complete  beauty,  can 
be  considered  essential  to  it. 

Let  us  apply  this  question,  first,  to  effects  of  beauty 
that  arc  experienced  solely  in  the  physical  organs  of  hear- 
ing and  sight,  and  in  these  organs  as  they  are  presented 
in  tlieir  rudiments,  /.  c,  in  elementar\-  sounds,  lines,  or 
colours.  When  is  a  sound  beautiful?  Vnw  would  think 
of  answering  this  exce[)t  by  saying,  when  it  is  a  blending 
togetlier,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  harmony,  of 
several  sounds,  as  in  melodies  or  chords,  or  series  of 
chords,  —in  other  words,  when  the  sound  is  not  simple 
but  complex.  lUit  let  us  Ije  accurate  in  this  matter.  Is 
it  not  true  that  a  single  sound,  like  the  solitary,  unvaried 
note  of  a  bird  or  of  a  prima  donna,  is  sometimes  beauti- 
ful' Certainly  it  is.  Init  when  is  it  beautiful"'  C)f 
course,  wlien  it  is  musical.  lUit  when  is  it  musical'  As 
all  physicists  know,  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is  complex; 
and  com])lex  under  such  coiulitions  that  all  its  component 
effects   work   together  in  w,i\-s  causing  them  to  fullil  the 


22  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .'ESTHETICS. 

same  laws  of  harmoin-  that  arc  fulfilled  in  chords  or  series 
of  them.  What  is  meant  in  sa\-in<^  this  will  be  explained 
in  Chapter  XVII.  At  present  the  fact  needs  only  to  be 
stated. 

A  similar  fact  is  true  with  reference  to  lines.  When  is 
a  line  beautiful.'  Who,  if  asked  this,  would  not  answer, 
when  it  outlines  a  figure?  And  when  does  it  outline  a 
figure'  — When  it  is  a  combination  of  many  lines  of  difTer- 
ent  directions;  and,  therefore,  when  its  effects  are  coiii- 
phx.  I^ut  here  again  it  may  be  asked,  Is  a  single  line 
never  beautiful?  iVnd  again  we  may  answer,  '"Certainly." 
But,  if  so,  the  line  is  never  perfeclh'  straight:  it  is  never 
a  line  having  the  simple  effect  of  onl\-  one  direction.  The 
line  of  beauty  is  a  curve;  in  other  words,  it  has  a  com- 
plex effect.  Nor  is  it  really  beautiful  even  then,  except 
when  its  different  sections  are  conditioned  and  related  so 
as  to  produce  effects  which,  for  reasons  that  cannot  be 
given  here,  are  recognised  to  be  harmonious.  (See 
Chapter  XYI.)  The  same  is  true  of  colours  also.  Some- 
times a  single  colour  seems  beautiful.  But  when  this  is 
the  case  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  it  seems  so 
on  account  either  of  the  contrast  between  it  and  surround- 
ing colours,  or  else  of  the  play  of  light  and  shade  on  its 
surface;  and  both  these  effects  are  really  effects  of  com- 
plexity.     (See  Chapter  XVIII, ) 

If  sounds,  lines,  and  colours,  even  when  considered  in 
their  elements,  owe  their  beaut\'  to  a  complexity,  often 
to  the  degree  of  the  complexity,  in  connection  with  which 
different  effects  are  blended  harmoniouslv,  this  must  be 
still  more  true  of  these  elements  when  combined  in  what 
all  recognise  to  be  the  extremel}-  complex  products  of 
nature  and  of  art.  What  is  meant  when  it  is  said  that 
com[)lexity    of   effects    must    be   blended    harmoniously? 


COMPLEXITY   OF  BEAUTY.  23 

in  other  words,  what  is  harmonious  blending?  An  answer 
to  the  question  can  be  found  in  no  better  way  than  by 
recalling  the  discoveries  of  the  scientists  as  a  result  of 
analysing  harmony  as  it  appears  in  music.  Some  of 
these  discoveries  are  explained  in  Chapter  XVII.  of  the 
present  volume.  In  this  place,  it  is  necessary  to  say 
merely  that  harmony  has  been  found  to  be  produced  in- 
variably by  no  other  tones  or  colours  except  such  as  are 
traceable  to  the  same  or  to  multiples  of  the  same  number 
of  vibrations /iV  second.  This  is  true  of  all  the  notes  of 
the  same  chord  or  scale,  and  of  all  the  shades  or  tints  of 
the  same  or  of  complcmentar\'  colours.  In  other  words, 
it  has  been  found  that  harmony  is  a  result  of  a  unity  pro- 
duced by  grouping  together  effects — /.  c,  of  sound-waves 
or  of  colour- waves — that  are  alike;  or  are  multiples  of 
others  that  are  alike. 

A  similar  principle  is  exemplified  in  the  more  perceptible 
effects  of  rhythm,  and  of  proportion,  both  of  which  are 
acknowledged  to  be  vcr\-  important  factors  in  the  pro- 
duction of  artistic  beauty.  Rh}-thm  is  a  result  of  mak- 
ing, by  series  of  noises,  or  strokes,  certain  like  divisions 
of  time  —  small  divisions,  and  exact  multiples  of  th.em  in 
large  divisions.  Hut  the  moment  that  the  smaller  divi- 
sions become  so  numerous  tliat  the  fact  that  they  exactly 
go  into  the  larger  divisions  is  no  longer  perceptible —as, 
often,  when  we  hear  more  even  than  eight  or  ten  notes 
in  a  musical  measure,  or  more  than  tlnce  or  four  syllables 
in  a  poetic  foot,  -the  effect  ceases  to  be  rhythmical.  A 
like  fact  is  true  of  proportion.  Owing  to  the  very  great 
possibilities  and  complications  (jf  outlining,  as  in  s([uares, 
angles,  and  curves,  its  laws  arc  intricate  and  diftlcult  to 
apply;  but,  as  is  shown  in  tlic  vi)lnnic  of  the  author  en- 
titled, '■  l'roi)ortion  and   Harmony  of  Line   and  Colour  in 


24  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTHETICS. 

Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture,"  the  effects  of 
proportion  all  result,  in  the  last  analysis,  from  exact  di- 
visions and  subdivisions  of  space  in  every  way  analogous 
to  the  divisions  and  subdivisions  of  time  that  produce 
rhythm.      (See  also  Chapter  X\^III.) 

Now  the  question  comes.  Are  all  the  effects  enterin>T 
harmoniously  into  that  complex  result  which  constitute., 
beauty  traceable  to  such  as  influence  merely  the  physical 
organs  of  the  ear  or  eye?  In  answer  to  this  it  may  be 
stated,  first,  that  it  has  been  discovered  that  not  only  do 
the  nerves  of  the  ear  and  eye  vibrate  as  affected  by  sound 
and  sight,  and  communicate  to  the  brain  intelligence  of 
particular  degrees  of  pitch  and  hue  as  determined  by  the 
rates  and  sizes  of  the  vibratory  waves,  but  that  in  addi- 
tion to  these  the  nerves,  as  well,  that  constitute  the  sub- 
stance of  the  brain  vibrate  and  thus  give  rise  to  thoughts 
and  feelings;  and,  not  onh'  so,  but  that  the  vibrations  of 
the  nerves  in  particular  parts  of  the  brain  give  rise  to 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  a  particular  character;  such,  for 
instance,  as  those  connected  with  particular  exercises  of 
memory  in  recalling  general  events  or  specific  terms. 
These  facts  have  been  ascertained  through  various  ob- 
servations and  experiments  in  connection  with  the  loss  or 
removal  of  certain  parts  of  the  brains  of  men  or  of  animals, 
or  with  the  application  of  electricity  to  certain  s\-stems  of 
nerves  accidentally  or  artificially  exposed  or  else  naturally 
accessible.  Of  course,  such  discoveries  tend  to  the  infer- 
ence that  all  conscious  mental  experience  whatsoever, 
precisely  as  in  the  case  of  sensations  excited  in  the  organs 
of  the  ear  and  eye,  are  effects  of  vibrations  produced  in 
the  nerves  of  the  brain.  If  this  inference  be  justified, 
the  line  of  thought  that  we  have  been  pursuing  ap[)arently 
justifies  the  additional  inference  that  all  conscious  mental 


MENTAL    EFFECTS  IN   BEAUTY.  2$ 

experiences  of  the  beautiful  are  effects  of  harmonious 
vibrations  produced  in  the  nerves  of  the  brain. 

In  holding  this  theory,  however,  let  us  not  neglect  no- 
ticing, as  do  many  of  its  advocates,  certain  other  facts. 
Through  the  experiments  of  hypnotism,  it  has  come  to 
be  acknowledged  that  the  outer  senses  can  be  completely 
deadened  and  }-et  the  inner  processes  of  intelligence  kept 
in  a  state  of  activity;  and  not  only  so,  but  that  some- 
times, merely  at  the  mental  suggestion  of  a  hypnotiser, 
irrespective  of  any  actual  sights  or  sounds  of  tlie  kind, — 
irrespective  therefore  of  any  possible  vibrations  in  the 
outer  air  or  ether  to  account  for  vibratory  effects  upon 
the  ph\'sical  organs  of  the  senses, — the  one  hypnotised  is 
made  to  see  colours  or  to  hear  niusical  harmonies. 

Now,  in  such  cases,  either  actual  vibrations  take  place 
in  these  organs,  or  cl.^e  they  do  not  take  place  for  the 
simple  reason  that  vibrations  are  not  necessary  to  the  re- 
sult;  and  whichever  of  these  theories  we  adopt,  we  are 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  effects  of  beauty  are 
dependent  ui)on  iiillLiences  operating  in  what  we  under- 
stand to  be  the  sphere  of  the  mind.  The  inlluences  are 
awakeneil  by  the  hypiioti-:er  irrespective  of  any  appeal 
through  the  outer  senses,  and,  when  awakened,  they 
operate  so  powerfully  that  they  produce  either  actual 
vibrations  in  the  senses,  or,  if  ncjt,  at  least  results  identi- 
cal with  those  caused  by  actual  vibrations.  iVssuming 
now  what  it  does  nc^t  seem  possible  to  doubt — namelv, 
that  the  existence  of  these  viijrations  constitutes  the 
substance  of  that  of  which  wc  are  conscious  in  a'sthetic 
effects;  that  these  viljrations  are,  so  to  spealv,  indis])eiis- 
able  to  the  o[)eration  of  tlie  battery  of  the  brain,  which 
without  them  cannot  comniunicate  its  peculiar  intlucncr 
to  intelligence,     what  are  we  to  infer,  when  we  fmd  tli.t 


26  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

they  can  bo  set  in  motion  not  only  from  the  physical  side, 
but — as  in  cases  of  hypnotism  not  only,  but  also  of  dreams 
about  music  and  painting,  etc.  —  from  the  non-physical 
side?  We  must  infer  that  on  this  latter  side  also  tlie 
same  vibrations  exist,  or,  if  not  so,  a  force  capable  of 
causing  the  same ;  and  that  the  sphere  in  which  we  are 
mentally  conscious  of  the  effects  of  the  vibrations,  or  the 
sphere  of  personal  consciousness,  as  we  may  call  it,  occu- 
pies a  region  between  the  material  and  what  we  may  term 
— ^because  we  cannot  conceive  of  it  as  otherwise — the  im- 
material. Add  to  this  another  fact  universally  admitted, 
which  is  that  vibrations  harmonious  in  the  sense  that  has 
been  explained  are  particularly  agreeable,  whereas  inhar- 
monius  vibrations  are  particularly  disagreeable;  and  why 
have  we  not,  from  modern  science,  a  suggestion  of  the 
possibility  of  there  being  exact  truth  in  the  theory  of 
Pythagoras  and  the  earlier  Greeks,  who  held  that  the 
mode  of  life  which  is  most  nearly  normal,  true,  divine, 
blissful,  beautiful,  is  not  only  physically — as  on  the  side 
of  the  eye  and  ear — but  spiritually^ — as  on  the  side  of  the 
mind— a  mode  of  harmony,  a  mode  fitted  to  produce  a 
literal  "music  of  the  spheres"?  As  has  been  said,  our 
minds  are  conscious  of  experiencing  from  a  world  which 
we  can  see  and  hear  harmonious  effects  which  are  identi- 
cal with  effects  coming  from  a  world  of  which  we  can  only 
think  and  feel.  Now,  if  by  scientific  analysis  we  can 
ascertain  the  method  of  producing  harmonious  effects 
which  come  from  the  one  world,  why  have  we  not  a  right 
to  argue  that  it  is  through  the  same  method  that  they 
come  from  the  other?  (See  the  Appendix  to  this  volume. ) 
Let  us  notice  some  further  considerations  serving  to  in- 
dicate the  accuracy  of  the  view  tint  has  here  been  taken. 
Observe,  first,  that  the  very  complexity  and  unity  that 


MENTAL   EFFECTS  IN  BEAUTY.  27 

have  been  shown  to  be  essential  to  beauty  of  form  can  be 
recognised  by  only  the  exercise  of  distinctively  mental 
analysis.  Indeed,  the  range  of  the  appreciation  of  beauty 
is  invariably  limited  by  the  ability  of  the  mind  to  make 
this  analysis.  If  musical  tones  be  made  to  follow  one 
another  too  rapidly  for  the  mind  to  distinguish  the  differ- 
ences between  them,  the  result  is  not  rhythm  or  melody, 
but  noise;  or  if  a  round  disk  with  harmonious  colours 
near  its  rim  be  made  to  revolve  too  rapidly  for  the  mind 
to  distinguish  them,  the  whole  produces  only  the  effect 
of  a  mixed  colour  usually  of  a  dingy  and  thoroughly  non- 
beautiful  white.  A  similar  result  is  produced  in  poetry 
by  metaphors  or  similes,  the  different  effects  of  which  are 
so  complicated  as  to  appear  mixed,  as  well  as  by  hues, 
outlines,  or  carvings  of  a  similarly  confused  nature  in 
pictures,  statues,  or  buildings. 

It  may  be  said,  however,  and  with  reason,  that  this 
mental  analysis  is  not  necessary  to  the  recognition  of 
beauty  alone,  but  of  any  appearance  the  parts  of  which 
one  wishes  to  perceive  clearly.  (Observe  again,  then,  that 
whenever  any  outward  form  is  perceived,  and,  as  a  result 
of  being  perceived,  is  termed  beautiful,  there  is  alwaN's  in 
the  mind  a  standard-form  or  a  typical  form,  by  which  to 
judge  of  it.  This  standard-form,  while  clearly  a  result 
of  the  perception  of  the  outward  object,  is  nevertheless 
different  from  the  outward  object.  It  is  a  purely  mental 
[)roduct  conjured  by  imagination  from  the  regions  of 
recollection,  association,  and  suggestion.  In  other  words, 
it  is  a  complex  result  of  many  mental  experiences.  "We 
may  remark,"  says  Immanuel  Kant,  in  his  "  ivritik  der 
Urtheilskraft,"  as  translated  l)y  |.  IT.  Bernard,  pt.  i..  d.  i., 
section  17,  p.  S7,  "that  the  imagination  can  not  only  re- 
call, on  occasion,  the  signs   for  concepts   long  past,  but 


28  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .-ESTnETTCS. 

can  also  reproduce  the  ima^e  of  the  fii^uire  of  the  object 
out  of  an  unspeakable  number  of  objects  of  different 
kinds,  or  even  of  the  same  kind.  .  .  .  li,very  one 
has  seen  a  thousand  full-gro\vn  men.  Now,  if  you  wish 
to  judge  of  their  normal  size,  estimating  it  by  means  of 
comparison,  tne  imagination,  as  I  think,  allows  a  great 
number  of  images  ( perhaps  the  whole  thousand)  to  fall 
on  one  another.  .  .  .  And  this  is  the  stature  of  a 
beautiful  man."  In  other  words,  according  to  Kant,  the 
imagination  acts  in  this  matter  in  precise  analogy  to  the 
method,  discovered  since  his  time,  of  the  composite 
photograph. 

The  general  principle  brought  out  in  this  quotation  is 
that,  in  connection  with  almost  every  phase  of  beauty 
recognised  merely  by  the  eye  or  ear,  there  is  another 
phase  recognised  by  the  mind.  Certain  facts  with  which 
we  are  familiar  in  all  the  arts  will  illustrate  this;  and  first 
in  music.  Notwithstanding  the  extreme  difficuky  of 
separating  any  musical  effects  whatever  from  such  as 
appeal  merely  to  the  outward  senses,  those  accustomed 
to  anah'se  when  listening  to  music  will  become  conscious 
of  a  degree  of  aesthetic  enjoyment  not  due  to  that  which 
is  being  heard,  but  to  certain  concrete  effects  of  that 
which  has  been  heard  before,  and  is  now  awakened  in  the 
mind  by  way  of  recollection,  association,  or  suggesticin. 
Even  in  cases  in  which  nothing  is  thus  recalled,  the  ;es- 
thetic  pleasure  is  often  enhanced  b\-  a  wholly  mental 
recognition  of  a  balancing  of  phrase  with  phrase,  and  of 
movement  with  movement,  such  as  we  find  in  the  blend- 
ings  of  melodies  and  their  variations;  or  of  two  or  more 
themes  or  tunes  as  in  the  overture  of  Wagner's  "Tann- 
hiiviser,"  or  in  the  "Star  Sp^angied  Banner,"  accompanied 
bv  "Yankee  Doodle." 


MENTAL   EFFECTS  IN  BEAUTY.  29 

But  this  combination  of  mental  effects  with  those  of 
form  can  be  recognised  more  clearly  in  connection  with 
poetry.  In  this  art,  besides  the  beauty  which  is  due  to 
phraseology,  as  manifested  in  the  choice  and  sequence  of 
words,  and  in  various  developments  of  assonance,  allitera- 
tion, rhythm,  and  rhyme,  everybody  acknowledges  that 
there  is  also  a  beauty  dependent  upon  the  tliought,  the 
proof  of  which  is  that  this  beauty  is  frequently  as  great 
in  prose  as  in  poetry.  But  from  what  does  this  beauty 
spring?  Clearly  and  unmistakably  from  a  combination 
of  the  effects  of  recollection,  association,  and  suggestion, 
assuming  concrete  form  in  the  imagination;  in  other 
words,  from  the  harmonious  effects  of  many  different 
forms,  some  coming  from  without  and  some  from  within 
the  mind,  some  perceptible  to  sight,  or  recalled  by  memory 
as  once  perceptible  to  sight,  and  some,  according  to  the 
laws  of  the  mind,  merely  conjured  by  fancy.  As  a  rule, 
too,  the  wider  apart  the  spheres  are  from  which  these 
effects  are  derived,  introducing  that  which  is  imexpected 
and  surprising,  the  more  striking  is  the  beauty  resulting 
from  their  combination,  as  where  those  that  are  ex- 
tremely material  are  united  to  those  that  are  extremely 
mental,  c.  if.. 

Still  as  a  slave  befcjrc  his  lord, 

The  ocean  hath  110  l)h^^t  ; 
His  i^reat  l)ri<;ht  c\e  most  silently 

Up  to  the  moon  is  cast. 

'flu   A iifiiiil  Mari)iir  :    Coh-ri(l\^c. 

A  siinilar  fact  is  true  in  the  arts  of  sight.  We  some- 
times find,  as  in  the  pictures  of  early  Christian  art,  a 
degree  of  beauty  which  cannot  be  attributed  to  any  fid- 
fdmcnt  of  the  laws  of  line  or  of  colour,  such  as  meet  the 
ph\>,iological  requirements  of  the  eye.      Yet   often   these 


30  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  AISTIIETICS. 

pictures  are  acknowlcclLjed  to  possess  great  charm,  owing 
to  what  is  termed,  notwithstanding  the  implication  of 
some  that  it  does  not  exist,  beauty  of  expression.  What 
is  meant  by  this?  Careful  analysis  will  show  that  it 
means  that  the  pictures  give  evidence  of  a  blending  of 
separate  ar,d  very  widely  different  efTects,  only  a  few  of 
which  are  attributable  to  form  as  form.  The  rest  are 
attributable  to  traits  of  character,  which  certain  of  the  de- 
picted faces  and  figures  are  supposed  to  manifest.  But 
is  not  every  one  of  these  traits  of  character  conjured  by 
the  imagination  of  the  spectator  and  assigned  to  the 
forms  only  so  far  as  they  have  effects  upon  the  recollec- 
tion of  some  like  form,  or  upon  one's  association  with  it, 
or  as  they  in  some  other  way  suggest  a  significance  which 
can  have  its  origin  nowhere  else  than  in  his  mind? 

Possibly  the  reader  may  find  himself  desiring,  just 
here,  a  further  explanation  of  the  method  through  which, 
in  connection  with  an  appeal  to  the  senses,  harmony  of 
effects  can  be  produced  within  the  mind.  What  is  meant 
by  harmony  of  mental  effects?  It  is  not  difficult  to  an- 
swer this  question.  In  music  or  in  poetry,  it  is  produced 
when  one,  in  composing  a  march,  a  waltz,  a  comic  opera, 
or  a  tragic  opera,  or  in  writing  an  elegy,  a  love  song,  or 
an  epic,  selects  in  each  case  an  appropriate  form  of  move- 
ment or  phraseology  of  rhythm  or  verse.  The  following 
lines  not  only  enjoin  but  exemplify  this  method. 

Soft  is  the  strain  wlien  Zcpliyr  gently  l)l(nv> 
Ami  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  mimher^  flows  ; 
ISiit  wlien  loud  surges  lasli  the  mounding  shore. 
The  hoarse  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar. 

Essav  0)1  Cntici'in  ■   Pope. 

In  the  arts  of  sight  the  same  likeness  between  effects 
upon  the  eye  and  upon  the  mind  is  manifested  when,  as 


MENTAL   EFFECTS   IN  BEAUTY.  3 1 

in  some  landscapes,  every  cloud,  wave,  leaf,  limb,  or 
shred  of  clothing  on  human  forms  augments  the  sugges- 
tions naturally  associated  with  the  indications  of  the  per- 
vading fury  of  a  tempest;  or  when,  for  instance,  Oriental 
scenery  and  Moorish  architecture,  Italian  scenery  and 
Renaissance,  Northern  French  and  Gothic,  are  made  to 
go  together,  as  also  the  costumes  or  attitudes  of  certain 
figures,  and  the  appearances  of  certain  places  or  periods. 
The  theory  that  the  highest  beauty  can  exist  aside 
from  expression,  or  irrespective  of  expression,  or  of  the 
(juality  of  that  expression,  which  seems  to  be  held  by 
many,  especially  by  certain  painters  and  literary  men  of 
the  present,  is  not  founded  upon  any  accurate  or  com- 
prehensive consideration  of  the  subject.  Take  a  scene  of 
debauchery— a  mingling  of  vice  and  nakedness — could 
any  amount  of  faultless  music  or  physique  make  this 
seem  to  a  pure  mind  other  than  disgusting  and  revolting? 
And  could  the  effects  of  beauty  be  fully  experienced,  or 
consciously  experienced  at  all,  in  connection  with  either 
feeling?  Certainly  they  could  not,  and  why  not?  l^e- 
cause  the  effects  which  act  together  harmoniously,  so  far 
as  concerns  their  influence  upon  the  ear  or  eye,  are  ac- 
companied by  other  effects  prrjduced  through  the  agency  of 
the  imagination  calling  up  forms  from  the  realms  of  recol- 
lection, association,  and  suggestion  ;  and  with  these  latter 
effects  the  effects  from  without  are  discordant.  The  es- 
sential element  of  beaut)'  is  harmf)n\'  resulting  from  com- 
[)lexity  of  effects,  and  the  greater  the  number  of  the  effects 
ui)on  the  mind  that  can  be  added  to  effects  u[)on  the  senses, 
the  greater,  as  a  rule,  is  the  amount  of  the  beauty.  A  sin- 
gle note  is  beautiful,  as  has  been  said,  because  compounded 
of  two  or  three  different  tones  that  harmonise;  but  it  is 
usuallv  more  beautiful  when  heard  in  connection  with  a 


32  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

melody  or  chord  or  series  of  chords  that  multiply  the 
complexity  of  the  harmony  many  scores  of  times.  And 
it  is  still  more  beautiful  when,  in  addition  to  this,  it  re- 
sembles, so  as  clearly  to  represent,  some  natural  or  con- 
ventional method  of  expression,  and  therefore  some  effect 
of  emotion,  and  in  connection  with  this  a  combination  of 
the  effects  of  many  different  emotions.  Without  the  im- 
pressions of  jo>',  admiration,  surprise,  or  wonder,  which 
are  conveyed  to  the  mind,  it  would  often  be  impossible 
for  tones — havini;,  sometimes,  the  qualities  of  noise  more 
than  of  music — to  exert  upon  thought  and  emotion  the 
thrilling  and  inspiring  effects  to  which  we  refer  when  we 
term  them  beautiful.  So  with  lines  and  colours,  and 
with  whole  pictures;  they  are  all  made  more  beautiful, 
the  more  their  harmony  results  from  effects  of  apparent 
complexity  in  the  form,  and  more  beautiful  still,  the 
more  this  harmony  results  also  from  the  mental  effects 
of  images  recalle-1  in  menK^y  or  conjured  by  imagination. 
This  increase  of  beauty  continues  u[3  to  the  point  where 
confu>ion  begins,  a  statement  which  is  true  even  of  the 
blending  of  effects  from  different  arts,  as  where  to  those  of 
melody  are  added  those  first  of  harmony,  then  of  poetry, 
then  of  acting,  then  of  dancing,  then  of  painting,  then  of 
sculpture,  then  of  architecture,  till,  finally,  we  have  all 
the  components  of  a  Wagnerian  opera.  In  all  such  cases, 
up  to  the  poirst  wdiere  confusion  begins — but  it  must  be 
confessed  that  with  some,  perhaps  with  most  people,  it 
begins  long  before  the  list  is  completed — -there  is  an  ap- 
prehensible increase  of  the  distinctly  .esthetic  influence. 
As  a  result  of  the  foregoing  discussion,  we  may  say 
that  beauty  is  a  characteristic  of  any  complex  form  of 
varied  elements  producing  apprehensible  unity  ( /.  i., 
harmony  or  likeness)  of  effects  upon   the  motive   organs 


DEFINITION   OF  BEAUTY.  33 

of  sensation  in  the  ear  or  eye,  or  upon  the  emotive  sources 
of  imagination  in  the  mind  ;  or  upon  both  the  one  and 
the  other. 

Of  course,  this  definition  is  a  broad  one,  and,  being 
so,  leaves  much  to  be  explained;  but  so  does  any 
definition,  the  only  difference  between  a  good  one  and  a 
bad  one  being  that  the  former  clearly  indicates  exactly 
what  it  is  tliat  needs  explaining.  What  needs  explain- 
ing in  this  one  is  the  particular  methods  through  which 
likeness  in  effects  can  be  produced  in  the  senses,  and  in 
the  mind,  and  in  both.  These  methods  will  be  found 
explained,  to  an  extent  never  before  attempted,  in  the 
author's  "The  Genesis  of  Art-Form,"  the  general  con- 
clusions of  which  book  arc  briefly  summarised  in  Chap- 
ters XI\\  and  X\".  of  the  present  volume. 

The  definition,  as  has  been  said,  is  broad;  but  if  it 
were  not  so,  it  might  not  apply  to  every  phase  of  the 
subject.  As  it  is,  it  in.terprets  equally  all  beauty,  whether 
manifested  in  nature  or  in  art.  I  low'  important  this  fact 
is,  may  be  inferred  from  this  remark  made  by  J.  S.  Ked- 
ney  in  his  "C'ritical  h^.xposition  of  Hegel's  /I'^slhetics  "  : 
"Both  Kant  and  Ilegel,  when  they  think  of  the  beauti- 
ful, have  in  mind  the  productions  of  art,  and  only  re- 
luctantly allow  place  to  the  beautiful  in  nature,  as  though 
art  almost  mono[)olised  the  beautiful,  and  in  it  alone 
beauty,  the  highest  and  purest,  was  to  be  found." 

The  definition,  moreover,  ap[)lies  equally  well  to  beauty 
whether  appealing,  in  tin:j  or  in  space,  to  the  ear  or  to 
the  eye,  whether  manifested  in  grace  of  movement  or  of 
outline,  or  whether  in  richner,s  of  tone  or  of  colour.  Tliis 
breadth  of  applicability  is  essential  to  comprehensiveness  ; 
and  it  is  largely  the  lack  of  the  latter  in  man\'  attempted 
definitions  that  explains  their  failure. 


34  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .^ESTHETICS. 

Again,  the  definition  is  so  comprehensive  that  it  may 
be  said  to  include  ahnost  all  the  characteristics  that  any 
large  number  of  writers  upon  the  subject  have  considered 
essential  to  beauty.  Not  only  do  the  general  conclusions 
of  the  definition  accord  with  the  conceptions  of  that  vast 
majority  who  attribute  beauty  to  the  effects  of  /lanno/iy,^ 
or  of  unity  in  variety,  or,  as  elsewise  expressed,  the  one 
in  tJie  manifold^'  but  the  recognition  of  the  importance 
of  the  effects  of  form  in  connection  with  effects  of  thought 
and  feeling  accords  with  the  conceptions  of  those  who 
attribute  beauty  to  the  results  either  cA  fitness,  utility,  or 

'  The  opinion,  amont;  others,  of  Pytliatjoras,  Kepler  in  liis  "  Ilarmonices 
Mundi,"  Leibnitz  in  liis  "  Principes  de  la  Nature,"  Kant  in  his  "  Kritik 
der  I'rtheilskraft,"  K.  }.  F.  Sehnaase  in  his  '•  Geschichte  der  liildenden 
Ki'mstc,"  T.  van  N'loten  in  his  "  Xederlandsche  Aesthetik,"  Lord  Shaftes- 
Ijury  in  his  "Miscellaneous  Rellectit)ns,"  Henry  Fuseli  in  the  "Lectures 
of  the  Koyal  Academicians,"  I).  R.  Hay  in  his  "Science  of  IJeauty  as  1  )e- 
vehiped  in  Nature  and  Ap])lied  in  Art,"  J.  Jungniann  in  his  "Aesthetik," 
C.  \V.  Opzoomer  in  his  "llet  W'e/.en  der  Kennis,"  lames  Sully  in  his 
"Sensation  and  Lituition." 

'-'  Plato,  Aristotle,  \'itru\ius,  and  AuLjustine,  L  !'•  'le  t"r<^usaz  in  his 
"  Iraite  du  l-ieau,"  Francis  Ilutcheson  in  his  "  Incjuirv  into  the  ()rii4inal  of 
Our  Ideas  (if  ISeauty  and  \'irtue,"  William  Hogarth  in  his  "Analysis  of 
Pieauty."  Alexander  (ierard  in  his  "  Kssa)-  on  Taste,"  William  Slieustone 
in  his  "  Fssav  on  Taste,"  Abraham  Tucker  in  his  "Light  uf  Nature  Pur- 
sued." J.  G.  Sulzer  in  his  "  Allgemeine  Tlieorie  der  Schinien  Kiinste,"  Y . 
von  Stdilegel  in  his  "Aesthetik,"  H.  van  Al])hen  in  his  "  Theorie  van 
Schoone  Kunsten  en  Wetenschappen,"  A.  C.  <Juatreniere  de  (hiincy  in  his 
"  1  )e  I'Lniversalite  du  Heau  et  de  la  Manierede  ri-jitendre."  Victor  Cousin 
in  his  "  Du  \'rai,  du  P)ien,  et  du  lieau,"  (i.  IL  de  Coster  in  his  "  l-Ttnients 
de  ri-Ntheti(pie  CJe'nerale,"  the  Abbe  P.  \'allet  in  his  "  L'Ideedu  IJeau," 
Moritz  Carriere  in  his  "Aesthetik,"  K.  C.  ]•'.  Krause  in  his  "  S_\stem  der 
Aestlietik,"  S.  T.  Coleridge  in  his  "  Pingraphia  l.iteraria,"  L  f'.  MacXicar 
in  his  essay  "  On  the  I'eautiful,  the  Picturcs(pie,  and  the  .Sublime,"  W.  1!. 
Scott  in  his  "  Half-Hour  Lectures  on  the  Histnrv  and  I'ractice  of  the  Fine 
and  C)rnamental  Arts,"  Sidney  Dobell  in  his  "Thoughts  on  Art,  Philoso- 
phy, and  Religion." 


DEFINITION   OF  BEAUTY,  35 

adaptability,^  or  of  trutli^'  ox  o[ perfection'^ ;  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  importance  of  effects  in  thought  and  feeling,  in 
connection  with  effects  of  form,  accords  with  the  concep- 
tions of  those  who  attribute  beauty  to  the  expression  of 
either  ideas,*  associations,"  vital  or  spiritual  force  or  life,'' 
goodness,'^  love  {syiitpathy),'  or  personality'';  and  the 
recognition  of  the  importance  of  a  combination  of  all 
these  effects  accords  with  the  conceptions  of  those  who 

'  Ak-xander  ( ierard  in  liis  "  Mssay  on  Taste,"  Lord  Karnes  in  his  "  Ele- 
ments of  Criticism,"  James  IJeattie  in  liis  "  Dissertations,"  ete.,  Sir  William 
Hamilton  in  his  "  Leetures  on  Metaphysics,"  James  P'ergusson  in  his 
"IliNtory  of  Architecture."  A.  W.  Holmes-Forbes  in  his  "Science  of 
lieauty." 

■-'  I'',  von  SchleL;(d  in  his  "  Aesthetik,"  Nicolas  lloileau-nespreaux  in  his 
"  I, 'Art  I'oetiiiue,"  Jose|ih  'I'orrey  in  his  "  Theory  of  h'ine  Art." 

'•  IJaumcjarten  in  his  "  Aeslhetica,"  l-'riedrich  Meier  in  his  "  Anfant^s- 
i;runde  der  Sclionen  W'issenschaften,"  J.  G.  Sul/.er  in  his  "  Allj^emeine 
Thenrie  der  .Sch'Uien  Kiinste." 

■■  Rodol[)he  Topffer  in  his  "  Reflexions  et  Menus-Propos  d'un  I'eintre 
Genevois — on  I-"ssai  siir  Ic  ISeau  dans  les  Arts,"  John  IJascom  in  his  ".Es- 
thetics, or  Science  of  I'.eauty." 

'  Archibald  .\lison  in  his  "  ICssay  on  the  Nature  and  Principles  of  'I'aste," 
Francis  Jeffrey  in  an  "  F'ssay  on  Beauty,"  Thonias  ISrown  in  his  "  Lectures 
on  the  I'hiloso])hy  of  the  Human  ^^nd,"  Thomas  Purdie  in  his  "  F'orm 
and  Sound." 

ML'L^'el  in  his  '' Aesthetik,"  T.  M.  (iuyau  in  his  "Les  Problemes  de 
I'l'l'-thctifjue  Contemporaine,"  H.  (hiilter  in  his  "  Sententi;e  Arti>,"  I. 
van  X'loten  in  his  "  Xeilerlandsche  .\esthetik,"  \'incen/o  Gioberti  in  his 
" 'I'rattato  d(l  Hello,"  John  IJascom  in  his  "  J'.sthetics,  c)r  .Science  of 
Ik-auty." 

"I'lhn  Ruskin  in  his  "  Modern  Painters,"  ( i.  '!'.  Ladil  in  his  "  1  ntroduc- 
tion  to  Philosophy." 

"  Lr.a^mus  Darwin  in  his  "  Zoonomia,  or  the  l,a\\s  of  (hijanic  I>ife," 
Charles  Darwin,  in  his  "Descent  of  Man,"  John  Todluinler  in  a  lecture 
on  the  "  Theory  of  the  Peautiftil." 

'■' Theod.  ire  !ouffro\-  ill  his  "('ours  d'F,^thi'u<|ue, "  Hei^el  in  his  "  Aes- 
thetik," !•'.  !'.  V'ischer  in  ids  "  .\esthctik,"  I'higene  \'eron  in  his 
"  L'P^stheli'pie." 


36  THE   ESSEX T/ALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

attribute  beauty  to  that  which  is  cither  snubolic,^  or,  by 
sliiiic'  or  splendour,''  tnviscciids  ox  traiisfii:;urcs\.\\<i  ox^\\\- 
ary/  FinaHy,  the  general  conckisions  reached  may  be 
made  to  accord  with  the  most  modern  theories  of  physio- 
logical psychology,"  as  well  as  with  the  theories  of  either 
of  the  two  great  schools  of  idealism  or  materialism,  with 
one  or  the  other,  or  both,  of  which  all  possible  theories 
may  be  classed.  If  the  idealist  tell  us  that  all  art  springs 
from  the  embodiment  of  an  ideal  existing  as  an  absolute 
spiritual  essence  in  natural  forms,  which,  wherever  it  is 
present,  is  intuitiveh'  recognised  by  the  mind,  we  can 
accept  his  statement,  provided  he  include  in  his  concep- 
tion of  the  ideal  existing  in  the  forms  their  physical 
effects  upon  the  artist's  physical  nature,  which  he  cm- 
bodies  as  physical  influences  in  the  art  that  he  produces. 
And  if  the  materialist  tell  us  that  all  art  springs  from  the 

'  U.  \V.  F.  Scilmrr  ill  his  "  \'orlesuiit;;en  uber  Aestlietik,"  T.  Carlyle  in 
liis  '■  Sarliir  l\e:>aitu>." 

'-'J,  J.  W'inckelinann  in  liis  '' ( iescliichte  clcr  Kun.st  des  Alterthunis,"'  E. 
\o\\  llartniann  in  his  "Aestlietik." 

■'  Ahhc  I'.  \'allet  in  his  "  L'Idee  du  Beau  ihans  hi  Pliilosophie  ile  Saint 
Tlionias  d'Aquin." 

^  Tlieories  of  rintinus,  Proclus,  and  St.  Augustine,  ''La  \'iie  di  I'ittori, 
Scultiiri,  ft  Arcliitetti  moderni  "  of  J.  W  Hellori.  "Alciphron,  or  the 
Minute  rhilosoplu-r "  of  hiishop  (ieorge  lierkeley,  "  Du  ISeau  (h\ns  hi 
Nature,  I'Art  et  la  I'dc^ie  "  of  Ailolphe  Pictet.  '•Journal  Intiine"  of  H.  !■'. 
Aniiel,  "  I)iscour>"  of  A.  C.  (Juatrcniere  de  (^>uincy,  "  Proclus"  and  "I)u 
\'rai,  du  liien,  et  du  ISeau  "  of  Motor  Cousin,  "  Coiirs  d'Estheti  jue  "  of 
Theodore  [ouffrov.  "  1  ,a  Science  du  lieau  "  of  Charles  Pcveque,  "  l.ettera 
tura  e  Arti  P)Ldlc"  of  .\.  Rosniini-Serhati,  ''  De  Socratische  School"  of  I'. 
\V.  van  llensdc.  "  i;--av>  on  the  Fine  Arts"  of  S.  T.  (/oleridt^e,  "The 
Beautiful  in  Nature,  .Vrt,  and  Life"  of  A.  J.  Syiiiini^ton,  the  "  DisC(.)urses 
on  h!eaut_\  "  of  J.  S.   lUackie. 

-'See  .\ppendi\  to  iliis  volume,  paL;e  ^^7.  Consult,  also,  the  classifica- 
tion ot  ilie  \ariou>  theories  of  beauty  in  the  author'^  "  Art  in  Theory,"  pp. 
Io0-i>4. 


TASTE.  T^y 

imitation,  direct  or  indirect,  of  tlie  forms  of  nature,  we 
can  accept  his  statement,  provitled  he  inchide  in  his  con- 
ception of  the  forms  of  nature  their  psychic  effects  upon 
tiie  artist's  psychic  nature,  which  he  embodies  as  psychic 
influences  in  the  art  that  he  produces. 

Before  closinLj  this  chapter,  mention,  perhaps,  should 
be  made  of  taste,  a  term  in  common  use,  indicative  of 
that  within  the  mind  enabling  one  to  recogmise  an  artistic 
effect,  aiul  to  judge  in  some  way  of  its  quality.  The 
term  originated  in  an  adaptation  to  a  feeling  in  the  mind 
of  that  which  can  be  actually  experienced  in  onl}-  one  of 
the  senses,  and  this  a  lower  sense.  As  originally  used, 
too,  taste  indicated  a  passive  state;  but  even  when  refer- 
ring to  the  lower  sense  it  may  indicate  an  active.  A 
cook  whose  taste  is  good  can  prepare  a  dish  to  the  taste 
of  others.  In  a  similar  way,  in  art,  the  word  may  indi- 
cate a  man's  appreciation  and  also  his  a})plication  of  the 
laws  of  beauty.  Again,  when  referring  to  the  lower 
sense,  men  are  said  to  have  a  natural  and  a  cultivated 
taste;  and  the  same  is  true  with  reference  to  their  atti- 
tude toward  beauty. 

As  api)lied  to  the  whole  range  of  artistic  effects,  the 
relation  of  taste  to  the  ;esthetic  nature  seems  to  be  pre- 
cisely that  of  conscience  to  the  moral  nature,  and  of 
judgment  to  the  intellectual.  I^nligliten  a  man's  soul, 
his  conscience  will  j)rompt  to  better  actions;  increase 
his  wisdom,  his  judgment  will  give  better  decisions. 
According  to  the  same  ;inalogy.  culliv'ate  his  ;esthetic 
nature,  —  /.  c,  im[:)rove  the  accuracy  of  his  ear  or  c_\-e.  his 
knowledge  of  the  different  a])pearances  of  life,  or  of 
modes  of  each  life,  -and  his  taste  will  be  cultivated  and 
imj^rfu'ed.  He  may  ne\'er  reacli  a  po-ition  where  he  can 
know  what  is  absolutelv  beautiful  an\'  more  than  what  is 


38  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^.STHETICS. 

absolutely  right  or  wise;  but  he  may  be  constantly  ap- 
proaching nearer  such  a  knowledge.  Hence,  as  applied 
to  art,  the  old  adage,  "De  gustibus  non  est  disputan- 
dum,"  is  not,  in  every  sense,  true. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ARTISTK'     MENIAL    ACTION,     AS     DISTI\(  iUISIIED     1-ROM 
THAT    IX    RKI.IGIOX    AND    SCIENCE. 

That  wliich  is  Expressed  in  Art — The  I'lay-Iiiipulse  as  Described  by  Schil- 
ler, Spencer,  lirown — Relation  (if  the  Art-Impulse  to  ICxcess  of  Life- 
I-'orce  and  to  Imitation — 'I'o  Spiritual  l-"orce — To  Inspiration — The 
Conscion^  and   Subconscious   Spheres  of   Mind;    Memory — Hypnotism 

—  Trained  Automatic  Skill — Subconscious  Mathematical,  l,oi;ical,  and 
Mu-ical  Proficiency — I\eli<^ious  Inspiration,  Scientific  Investi<;ation, 
and  Artistic  ImaLjination  —  Differences  between  Religion  and  Art — Art 
Can  Intluence  for  (iood  Religious  Thons^ht  and  Life — Differences 
between  Science  and  Art — The  Main  Work  of  Science  Conducted  in 
the  Conscious  Mental  Region  ;   that  of  Art  Eipially  in  the  Subconscious 

—  Illustrations — The  Man  of  ImaL^ination  and  of  None — Sid)conscious 
Mental  and  Imaginative  Action  is  not  Irrational,  though  it  is  Rajdd 
and  Emotional  —  Connection  between  Artistic  Mental  Action  and 
Temperament  —  Artists  are   Men  of  Sentiment. 


/^~^  I'LRTAIX  limitations  of  the  .sij^hts  and  .sounds  that 
can  be  used  in  the  arts  of  the  highest  rank — termed 
by  tlie  hVench  Lvs  JUaux  Arts  —  were  considered  in  the 
cha[)ter  just  closed.  Let  us  now  consider  certain  limita- 
tions of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  that  can  be  expressed 
through  such  arts.  A  moment's  thought  will  reveal  to 
us  tliat  these  thoughts  and  emotions  when  exercised,  in 
accordance  with  what  was  said  on  page  6,  for  a  useful 
and  therefore,  a  non-a-sthetic  end  are  usuall)'  such  as 
are  titted  to  meet  some  external  emergency;  whereas 
thoughts   and    euKAions   exercised    for  an    ;esthetic    and, 


40  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

therefore,  a  non-useful  end  are  usually  such  as  are  not 
intentionally  fitted  to  meet  any  external  emergency,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  are  under  the  predominating  influence 
of  some  inward  impulse  of  the  mind.  The  products  of 
the  higher  arts  are  of  the  nature  of  those  owing  their 
origin,  in  the  sphere  of  thought,  to  dreaming  rather  than 
to  planning;  in  the  sphere  of  feeling,  to  spontaneity 
rather  than  to  responsiveness;  in  the  sphere  of  action,  to 
play  rather  than  to  work. 

In  accordance  with  this  latter  conception,  the  poet 
Frederick  von  Schiller,  in  his  "  Briefe  iiber  die  aesthetische 
Erziehung  des  Menschen,"  attributes  all  aesthetic  results 
to  what  he  terms  the  play-impulse.  Developing  this  the- 
ory, Herbert  Spencer,  in  his  "  Principles  of  Psychology," 
says  that  "as  we  ascend  to  animals  of  high  types, 
we  begin  to  find  that  time  and  strength  are  not 
wholly  absorbed  in  providing  for  immediate  needs.  A 
cat  with  claws  and  appended  muscles  adjusted  to  daily 
£.ction  in  catching  prey,  but  now  leading  a  life  that  is  but 
in  a  small  degree  predatory,  has  a  craving  to  exercise 
:hese  parts.  .  .  .  This  useless  activity  of  unused 
organs,  which  in  these  cases  hardly  rises  to  what  we  call 
play,  passes  into  play  ordinarily  so  called,  when  there  is 
a  more  manifest  union  of  feeling  with  the  action.  .  .  . 
Dogs  and  other  predatory  creatures  show  us  unmistak- 
ably that  their  play  consists  of  mimic  chase  and  mimic 
fighting.  The  plays  of  children — nursing  dolls,  giving 
tea  parties,  and  so  on — are  dramatisings  of  adult  activi- 
ties. The  sports  of  boys,  chasing  one  another,  wrestling, 
making  prisoners,  obviously  gratify  in  a  partial  way  the 
predatory  instincts.  .  .  ."  G.  l^aldwin  Brown,  in 
his  work  on  "The  P'ine  Arts,"  after  quoting  this  passage, 
adds;     "Man    possesses    an    ideal    self-determined    life. 


5    ^ 
'2    f/ 


42  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  yESTHElICS. 

existing  side  by  side  with,  but  apart  from,  his  hfe  as  con- 
ditioned by  material  needs.  This  life  expresses  itself  in, 
and  is  nourished  by,  various  forms  of  'free  and  spon- 
taneous expression  and  action,'  which  in  the  lower 
grades  of  being  may  be  termed  simply  'play,'  but  in  the 
higher  grades  take  the  shape  of  that  rational  and  signifi- 
cant play  resulting  in  art." 

This  is  much  the  same  as  to  say  that  every  animate 
creature  is  an  embodiment  of  vitality,  or  life-force,  as  we 
may  term  it;  and,  as  if  to  prevent  a  lack  of  it  in  him,  it 
is  usually  giv^en  him  in  excess.  For  this  reason,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  desires  behind  all  the  appetites,  it  always 
tends  to  overflow  the  channels  of  necessary  activity. 
When  it  does  this,  one  invariable  characteristic  of  play, 
as  is  suggested  by  Mr.  Spencer  in  the  quotation  just 
made,  is  imitation.  The  same  is  invariably  a  character- 
istic of  the  art-impulse.  Not  only  is  dramatising,  as  Air. 
Spencer  intimates,  imitation,  but  so,  in  a  sense,  is  poet- 
ising, being  supposedly  representative  of  what  men  are 
supposed  to  say,  or  think,  or  do.  So,  too,  are  repro- 
ductions of  scenes  in  nature  through  drawing,  colouring, 
or  modelling;  and  the  same  may  also  be  affirmed,  in  a 
sense  that  need  not  be  explained  here,  of  much  that  is 
reproduced  in  music  and  architecture.  Tliese  facts  ex- 
plain why  it  is,  and  how  it  is,  that  art  of  the  highest  rank, 
while  that  which  reproduces  most  extensively  and  ac- 
curately the  appearances,  and,  as  shown  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  the  beauties  of  nature,  is  also  the  art  which  fur- 
nishes expression  for  thoughts  and  emotions  that  are 
most  freely  and  spontaneously  impelled  from  within. 
Those,  therefore,  who  identify  the  art-impulse  with  th-e 
play-nnpulse  are  justified  when  they  apply  their  tests 
either  to  the  results  of  the  two,  or  to  their  sources.      It  is 


INSPIRA  TION.  43 

hardly  necessary  to  point  out,  after  what  has  been  said, 
that  the  products  which  are  human  in  the  finest  and  most 
distinctive  sense,  do  not  result  from  an  excess  of  life- 
force  in  general,  but  only  of  that  particular  phase  of  it 
which  is  expended  distinctively  upon  modes  of  express- 
ing thought  or  feeling.  I^'orcc,  moreover,  is  something 
which  derives  its  importance,  if  not  its  quality,  less  from 
itself  than  from  that  in  which  or  upon  which  it  operates. 
We  all  recognise  a  difference  in  both  importance  and 
quality  in  what  we  term  hand-power  and  electric  power. 
iVccording  to  a  similar  analogy,  it  is  evident  that  the 
force  which  is  expended  upon  the  imitation  of  nature 
may  be  much  more  important  and  very  different  in  quality 
when  it  is  used  in  the  expression  of  thought  and  feeling 
than  when  representing  merely  ph\"sical  phases  of  activity 
as  among  the  lower  animals.  When  this  is  understood, 
one  can  understand  how  art,  while  traceable  to  that 
which,  in  one  si)here,  is  a  play-motive,  and  while  produced 
with  an  aim  irrespective  of  any  consideration  of  material 
utility,  nevertheless  often  springs  from  mental  and  spirit- 
ual activity  of  the  most  distinctive  kind,  and  results  in 
the  greatest  j^ossible  benefit  to  the  race.  A  being  with  a 
mind  and  spirit  perpetually  evolving  thought  and  feeling 
possesses  that  which,  for  its  own  sake  alone,  ought  to  be 
expressed.  With  this  thought  we  come  upon  a  philo- 
sojjhic,  if  not  a  scientific,  warrant  for  that  common 
opinion,  so  often  held  ^vithout  reasoning  and  expressed 
without  discrimination,  that  the  products  of  art  are  to  be 
ascribed  to  what  is  termed  ii/.firct/ioii.  When  w(j  have 
traced  them  to  this  f)\-ernow  at  the  very  springs  of  mental 
vitality,  no  one  who  tliinks  can  fail  to  feel  that,  if  human 
life  an\-w]iere  can  conic  into  contact  u  ith  the  divine  life, 
it  must  be  here.       There  are  reservoirs  Ijehiiid  the  si)rings 


44  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETJCS. 

of  the  mountain-streams.      Are  there  none  behind  those 
of  thought?     And  if  there  be  any,  what  are  they? 

The  answer  to  this  question  necessitates  our  entering 
upon  a  very  broad  subject,  of  which  the  outlines  only 
can  be  indicated  here.  Let  us  start  by  saying  that  there 
is  a  hidden,  occult  sphere  of  the  mind,  of  the  operatioiis 
of  which  we  are  ordinarily  unconscious,  and  of  the  results 
of  which  we  know  only  so  far  as  they  influence  another 
sphere  of  which  we  are  ordinarily  conscious.  The  most 
apparent  facts  revealing  the  existence  of  this  unconscious, 
or,  <'is  it  is  often  called,  subconscious  sphere  of  the  mind, 
are  afforded,  perhaps,  by  memory.  The  mind  is  con- 
stantly recalling  experiences  of  which  it  has  been  so  thor- 
oughly oblivious  that  they  have  been  supposed  to  have 
been  lost.  But  ccjually  conclusive  evidences  of  the  same 
subconscious  possibility  may  be  furnished  by  other  mental 
processes.  When  trains  of  thought  are  conducting  to 
conclusions  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  what  is  the 
mind  doing  but  making  use  of  stores  not  only,  but  of 
methods  that  are  not  outside  of  it,  but  in  it,  and  \-et  are 
hidden  so  deeply  in  it  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
conscious  control?'  In  normal  mental  action  we  are  only 
partly  aware  of  the  extent  and  importance  of  these  stores, 
and  may  be  startled  to  hear  it  stated  that,  probably,  no- 
thing whatever  that  a  man  has  ever  seen,  heard,  touched, 
tasted,  smelled,  or,  by  the  slightest  practice,  develo[)ed 
into  the  suggestion  of  a  habit,  is  lost,  but  remains  indelibly 
impressed  upon  the  intellect  and  character.  Neverthe- 
less, such  seems  to  be  the  case.  Captain  J^^ederick 
Marryat,  author  of  "The  Adventures  of  a  Xaval  Officer," 
relates  that  at  one  time  he  jumped  into  the  sea  to  save  a 
sailor's  life,  and,  on  rising,  found  himself  in  the  midst  of 
blood,  gi\dng  e\'ulence   of   the   ijresence  of  a  shark.      l^e- 


THE    SUBCONSCIOUS  MIND.  45 

twccn  that  moment  and  the  moment,  almost  immediately 
followini^,  when  he  was  rescued,  he  re-experienced,  ac- 
cording^ to  his  story, — and  the  SlUIIc  thing"  in  effect  has 
been  reported  by  many  others, — about  everything  that 
he  had  ever  done  or  said  or  thought.  Coleridge  states, 
in  his  "Biographia  Literaria,"  that  in  a  German  vil- 
lage near  Gottingen  a  young  woman,  twenty-five  years 
of  age,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write,  was  seized  with 
a  fever.  While  in  th.is  state  she  kept  constantly  repeat- 
ing Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew.  Her  physician,  being  of 
<i  scientific  turn,  traced  back  her  history.  He  found  that 
she  had  once  been  a  servant  in  the  house  of  a  Protestant 
pastor.  This  man  had  been  in  the  habit,  wdiile  walking 
up  and  down  in  a  passage  into  which  the  kitchen  opened, 
of  reading  in  a  loud  voice  Latin,  Greek,  and  rabbinical 
Hebrew.  Many  of  the  very  phrases  which  the  physican 
had  taken  down  in  writing  at  her  bedside  were  found 
in  the  rabbinical  books  in  this  man's  library. 

Results  analogous  to  these  —  occasioned,  as  will  be 
noticed,  in  the  one  case  by  fright  and  in  the  other  by 
fever — may  be  produced  by  hypnotism.  This  may  be 
described  as  a  method  of  putting  the  conscious  body  and, 
through  it,  the  conscious  mind  to  sleej).  When  this  has 
been  done,  the  subconscious  mind  may  be  made  to  wake 
u}),  and  to  take  charge  of  the  body'.s  organs  of  expres- 
sion. P)ut  there  is  no  proof  that  h_\-[)notism  does  an\' 
more  than  furnish  an  o[)portunit_\-,  availing  it-elf  of  which 
tlie  subconscious  mind  can  exeicise  its  inlluence  in  a  \\:\\ 
normal  to  itself,  yet  not  ordiiianlv  obser\'ed  because  hid- 
den behind  the  activities  of  the  con-cious  mind.  J'he 
germs  of  thought  fioni  whicli  the  conceptions  of  the 
h\'!)notic  patient  arc  (le\'eloped  are  olti-n  very  elementary 
\\\  cliaraeter.      Subjects  ]()ssL---'iiig  no  oratorical  gifts,  for 


46  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .-ESTHETICS. 

instance,  arc  told  to  personate  some  famous  public 
speaker,  and  at  once  they  set  out,  and,  wiih  apparent 
case,  deliver  addresses  closely  rcsemb]inL,^  either  in 
method  or  phraseology,  some  speech  of  this  man  which 
they  have  previously  heard  or  read,  tliough  only  in  an 
extremely  superficial  and  heedless  wax. 

This  subconscious  mental  action  is  not  confined,  how- 
ever, to  memory.  Skill  in  any  department  is  a  result  of 
practice  continued  until  the  mind  has  become  enabled 
to  superintend  a  large  number  of  details  without  having 
any  of  them  clearly  in  consciousness.  Every  musician, 
for  instance,  is  aware  that  after  repeating  a  composition, 
as  on  the  piano,  the  execution  may  become  so  familiar 
that  his  fingers  will  play  it  automatically,  as  it  were, 
while  his  thoughts  are  very  intently  fixed  upon  something 
else,  possibly  upon  the  general  expression  of  the  piece, 
possibly  upon  something  having  nothing  to  do  with  music 
in  any  form. 

When  the  subconscious  action  of  the  mind  takes  place 
in  connection  with  processes  which  a  man  has  learned 
and  mastered,  we  may  always  attribute  it,  as  we  do  recol- 
lection, to  previous  conscious  action.  Hut  there  are  c.ises 
in  which  previous  conscious  action  has  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  subconscious  action.  As  illustrating  what  is 
meant,  take  first  the  cases  of  lightning  calculators,  as 
they  are  termed — many  of  them  mere  children,  who  have 
hardly  mastered  reading  and  writing,  much  less  arith- 
metic. In  a  way  apparently  unknown  to  themselves, 
they  are  able  to  solve  the  most  intricate  mathematical 
problem  almost  as  rapid)},-  as  it  can  be  read  to  them. 
Zerah  Coburn  was  but  eight  \-ears  old  when  exhibited 
before  audiences  of  the  foremost  mathematicians  of  his 
time.      Here,  according  to  the   English  "Annual   Regis- 


THE    SUBCONSCIOUS  MIND.  47 

ter  "  of  1812,  are  two  of  the  questions  asked  him,  and 
answered  before  the  numbers  could  be  written  down: 
"What  is  the  square  root  of  106,929?"  "What  is  the 
cube  root  of  268,336,125?  "  So  with  questions  that  can 
be  solved  by  logic.  Those  accjuainted  with  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  subconscious  mind,  as  disclosed  by  hyp- 
notic influences,  believe  themselves  to  have  reasons  for 
holding  that  all  mental  processes  are  developed  in  it 
with  flawless  precision.  The  results  are  like  those  com- 
ing from  a  perfectly  constructed  automatic  machine. 
The  germ,  however,  which  is  thus  developed,  is,  as  a 
rule,  suggested  from  the  outside,  usually  by  the  hyp- 
notiser,  and  if  the  i)remise  be  false,  the  conclusions  of 
the  subconscious  logic  will  be  false.  Still  more  remark- 
able, perhaps,  are  the  results  of  the  subconscious  in  music. 
Mozart  was  only  three  years  old  when  he  began  to  play 
in  pidilic  concerts,  and  when  only  eight  years  old  he  had 
coinposed  a  symphony  for  a  full  orchestra.  lie  was, 
however,  the  son  of  a  musician,  and  his  facility  might  be 
attributed  to  some  extent  to  his  surroundings  or  to 
heredity.  But  neither  of  these  reasons  can  in  any  way 
account  for  the  performances  of  others.  b\)r  instance, 
in  our  own  country,  there  was  Blind  Tom,  as  he  was 
called.  He  was  an  exceptionally  ignorant  negro,  yet 
he  could  remember  and  execute,  apparently,  atiything 
that  was  pla\-ed  but  onct?  bef(jre  him,  and,  sometimes, 
without  a  moment's  ])re[)arati(jn,  he  could  add  to  this 
variatifjns  as  successful  as  the  average  of  those  result- 
ing from  long  hours  of  labour  on  the  part  of  educated 
musicians. 

I'.nough  has  l)een  said  to  mak-e  clear  what  is  meant  h\ 
action  wliich  has  its  s(jurce  in  tlie  subconscious  as  dis- 
tinguisliL'd     from    the    consciou-;    mind.       Xor    w\\\    any 


48  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ALSTHETICS. 

explanations  be  needed  to  canse  us  to  associate  with  the 
subconscious  source,  mainly  but  not  exclusively,  those 
results  of  inspiration  which,  throuL^'h  the  spirit,  are  sup- 
posed to  inlluence  us  in  rc/i^i^i'oii,  or  to  associate  with  the 
conscious  source,  mainly  but  not  exclusively,  those  re- 
sults of  in-i'cstii^afioji  concerning  the  material  world  which 
are  supposed  to  influence  us  in  scic-iwc.  When  we  con- 
sider art,  we  invariably  associate  it  with  the  results  of 
iiiiai^^iiiation.  Ikit  imagination,  in  its  primary,  though 
not  in  its  secondary  processes,  always  necessitates  two 
things, — -first,  a  conception  coming  from  the  mind  within  ; 
and.  second,  a  form  selected  from  the  world  without, 
through  which  to  image  the  conception.  The  conception, 
so  far  as  minds  are  not  conscious  of  its  having  form,  must 
be  attributed  to  the  subconscious:  in  fact,  is  it  not  often 
spoken  of  as  an  i]ispiration  /  The  form  selected  must  be 
attributed  to  the  external  world  with  which  one  becomes 
acquainted  through  observation.  .Art.  therefore,  seems  to 
involve  about  eciually  subconscious  inspiration  as  exem- 
plified in  works  of  genius,  and  conscious  invosti^i^^'ation  or 
obscr\'ation  as  exemplified  in  works  of  imitation.  What 
is  termed  a  religious  thought  cannot  become  artistic  until 
ii/iao-ination  has  presented  it  in  a  form  which  manifests 
both  observation  of  external  ai^pcaranccs,  and  also  in- 
formation with  reference  to  them  as  accurate,  in  some 
regards,  as  are  those  of  science.  Xnr  c>in  a  scientific 
conception  become  artistic  before  i'n(ii:;ination  has  haloed 
it  about  with  suggestions  as  inspired,  in  some  regards, 
as  are  those  of  religion. 

To  illustrate  these  differences  more  in  detail,  the  essen- 
tial matter  in  religion  is  that  tho  mateiial  forms  of  ex- 
pression shall  alwa\-s  be  subordinate  to  the  [)romptings  of 
the   higher  spiritual    nature.      When    this    is    the   case,    a 


RELIGION  AXD   ART.  49 

man's  mental  attitude,  as  it  appe;ils  to  his  own  mind  or 
is  expressed  to  others,  is  characterised  by  faith;  and  it 
often,  by  way  of  contrast,  appears  to  be  characterised  by 
this  the  more,  in  the  degree  in  which  his  methods  of 
speech  or  of  action  are  not  subordinate  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, antagonistic  to  outward,  or  to  what  we  ordinarily 
term  practical,  requirements, — in  the  degree  in  whicli, 
for  all  that  he  can  see  or  hear  in  the  world  about  him, 
his  course  may  lead  to  disparagement,  persecution,  and, 
in  ages  of  martyrdom,  to  death.  In  art  the  conditions 
arc  different.  It  involves  no  necessary  subordination  of 
the  conscious  to  the  subconscious.  There  is  always  a 
co-operation  between  the  two,  in  which  sometimes  the 
one  seems  the  more  prominent  and  sometimes  the  other, 
but  in  no  case  does  the  mind  fail  to  be  conscious  of  ex- 
ternal and  material  surroundings,  or  to  aim  at  conforniity 
to  these.  It  is  the  essential  condition  of  art  that  it  should 
manifest  this  conformity;  that  it  shouUl  produce  a  dra- 
matic imitation,  a  melody,  a  metaphor,  a  picture,  a  statue, 
a  building,  whatever  it  may  be,  which  in  some  way  em- 
phasises the  influence  of  these  surroundings.  To  religion, 
emphasis  placed  on  these  would  often  prove  fatal.  Re- 
ligious effects  are  seldom  produced  b}-  wliat  are  recog- 
nised clearly  to  be  copies  iA  mere  forms.  A  Christian 
man  through  his  conduct,  and  a  church  througli  its  ser- 
vices, may  represent  the  Christian  life,  but  the  moment 
that  the  re[)resentativc;  element  in  either  is  em[)hasised, 
the  moment  that  it  is  brouglit  to  our  attention  that  the 
man's  actions,  attitudes,  or  facial  and  \'ocal  expressions 
arc  assumed  for  the  purpose  of  representing,  he  sug- 
gests to  us  a  Pharisee,  if  not  a  liypocrite.  With  art  it 
is  the  opposite.  Its  object  is  to  represent;  and  the 
act(jr    upon    the    stage,    or    any    imitator    of    real    life    as 


50  rilE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^-ESTHETICS. 

delineated  in  the  drama  or  the  novel,  or  depicted  in  the 
picture  or  the  statue,  awakens  our  approval  in  the  exact 
degree  of  the  unmistakably  representative  character  of 
his  performance. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose,  however,  that  art, 
because  different  from  religion,  is  aiitagonistic  to  it. 
The  truth  is  just  the  contrary.  It  can  be  said,  almost 
without  qualification,  that  in  all  times  of  extreme  tradi- 
tionalism and  unenlightenment  art  has  proved  the  only 
agency  that,  without  offending  ignorance  and  superstition, 
has  been  able  to  counterbalance  their  inlluence.  It  has 
done  this  by  using  the  forms  of  nature,  and  contenting 
itself  with  the  truth  as  represented  in  them.  Guised  in 
familiar  aspects,  appealing  to  the  mind  by  way  of  sug. 
gestion  which  leaves  the  imagination  free  to  surmise  or  to 
deduce  whatever  inference  may  appeal  to  it,  the  thoughts 
expressed  in  art  do  not,  as  a  rule,  repel  even  the  most 
prejudiced,  or  excite  their  opposition.  A  man  in  Italy, 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  would  have  been  sent  to  the 
stake  if  he  had  made  a  plain  statement  to  the  effect  that 
a  pope  could  be  kept  in  hell,  or  a  pagan  admitted  to  para- 
dise. Vet  when  Dante  pictured  both  conditions  in  his 
great  poem,  how  few  questioned  his  orthodox}'  I  So  with 
the  themes  of  painting  and  of  sculpture.  What  a  rebuke 
to  the  bigotry  and  the  cruelty  of  the  Middle  Ages  were 
the  countless  products  of  the  arts  of  those  periods,  plead- 
ing constantly  to  the  eye  against  the  savage  customs  of 
the  times  for  the  sweet  but  little-practised  virtues  of 
justice  and  charity!  Within  our  own  centur\',  too,  not- 
withstanding the  traditions  of  society,  the  State  and  the 
Church,  which  have  often  exerted  all  their  powers  to  up- 
hold ami  per[)etuate  slavery,  aristocracy,  and  sectarianism, 
recall  how  the  modern  novel  chicllx-,  but  assisted  largely 


SCIENCE   AND   ART.  5  I 

by  the  modern  picture,  has  not  only  changed  the  whole 
trend  of  the  world's  thought  with  reference  to  these  sys- 
tems, but  has  contributed,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
single  cause,  to  the  practical  reorganization  of  them,  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  enlightened  intelligence. 
Notice,  too,  that  this  influence  of  art  extends  to  the 
whole  region  covered  by  religion,  whether  pertaining  to 
this  world  or  to  the  next.  In  ages  like  our  own,  when 
men  rely  chiefly  upon  the  guidance  of  the  conscious  mind, 
it  is  extremely  difficult  for  them  to  be  brought  to  realise 
that  there  is  any  trustworthy  guidance  attributable  to  the 
action  of  the  subconscious  mind.  Art  does  not  discuss 
this  guidance,  but  presupposes  it.  Through  the  results 
of  the  subconscious  mind  coalescing  with  those  of  the 
conscious  mind  it  everywhere  surrounds  the  material  with 
the  halo  of  the  spiritual,  causing  tliosc  who  will  not  even 
acknowledge  the  existence  of  the  latter,  to  enter  upon  a 
practical  experience  of  it  in  ideas,  and  to  accept,  when 
appearing  in  the  guise  of  imagination,  what  they  would 
reject  if  presented  in  its  own  lineaments.  So  the  artist, 
though  not  a  seer,  always  has  within  hin^  the  possibility 
of  being  the  seer's  assistant. 

Now  h't  us  notice  tlie  difference  between  science  and 
art.  Science  has  to  do  with  i}tvcslii!;(Xtio)i  tending  to 
k)i(nclc({i^i\  both  which  we  associate  almost  entirely  with 
the  action  of  the  conscious  mind.  Art  has  to  do  with 
ii/i(ii!;i)i(i/i(>n  tending  Xo  iiit-alilv,  both  which  necessitate 
more  fjr  less  acti(jn  of  tlie  subconscious  mind.  It  must 
nr)t  be  sup[)osed,  however,  that  science  has  absolutely  no 
connection  with  these  latter.  "Students  of  science," 
savs  Herbert  Spencer,  "<Lre  lialjle  to  forget  that  informa- 
tion, however  extensive  it  may  become,  can  never  satisfy 
incjuiry.      Positive  knowledge  does  wot  and  never  can  fill 


52  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

the  whole  region  of  possible  thought.  At  the  uttermost 
limit  of  discovery,  there  arises,  and  must  ever  arise,  the 
question:  What  lies  beyond?"  When  this  question  is 
asked,  no  mind  can  even  begin  to  answer  it,  save  one 
that  is  able  to  carry  forward  subconsciously  the  same 
mental  process  which,  up  to  this  time,  it  has  carried  on 
consciously.  How  do  we  know  this  fact?  From  the  re- 
sults. According  to  an  old  story,  which  may  or  may  not 
be  true,  a  Xewton  sees  an  apple  fall  to  the  ground,  and, 
by  a  subconscious,  but,  as  indicated  on  page  47,  a  strictly 
logical  process,  a  conception  with  reference  to  the  law  of 
gravitation  emerges,  which  conception  we  refer  to  im- 
agination or  inspiration. 

At  the  same  time  the  most  important  part  of  the  work 
of  science  must  be  done  in  the  conscious  region,  other- 
wise the  subconscious  mind  will  not  argue  from  correct 
premises  nor  reach  correct  results.  l^efore  exercising 
imagination,  science  must  analyse,  if  possible,  every  part 
of  every  effect  that  it  observes,  and  every  condition  in 
time  or  space  that  has  preceded  it.  In  art  these  pro- 
cesses are  not  necessary.  The  effect  can  be  accepted  as 
a  whole,  and  just  as  it  appears  at  the  time  of  observation. 
"There  are  in  all  considerable  objects,"  says  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  when  discussing  this  subject  in  the  eleventh 
of  his  "Discourses  on  the  Art  of  Painting,"  "great  char- 
acteristic distinctions  which  press  strongly  on  the  senses 
and  therefore  fix  the  imagination.  These  are  by  no 
means,  as  some  persons  think,  an  aggregate  of  all  the 
small  discriminating  particulars;  nor  will  such  an  accu- 
mulation of  particulars  ever  express  them."  The  reason 
why  art  makes  and  uses  what  might  be  termed  these 
"snap  judgments"  is  obvious.  It  is  a  development  of 
the  earliest  effects  of  nature  upon  the  mind,  especially 


IMA  GIN  A  TION  IN  ART.  53 

upon  the  mind's  methods  of  expression.  In  other  words, 
art  is  a  development  of  the  earHest  endeavour  of  men  to 
give  form  to  thought  for  which  they  have  no  form  at 
their  command.  It  is  not  at  the  command  of  the  savage 
or  of  the  child,  simply  because  no  form  appropriate  has 
come,  as  yet,  within  the  very  limited  range  of  his  ex- 
perience or  information.  It  is  not  always  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  cultivated  man,  because,  often,  all  forms 
with  which  he  is  acquainted  seem  to  be  inadequate.  Ac- 
cordingly the  uncultivated  and  the  cultivated  alike  are 
impelled  to  originate  expressions  for  themselves.  In 
doing  this,  they  are  obliged  to  interpret  nature  in  a  cer- 
tain way.  They  must  think  about  that  which  they  have 
observed,  and  before  they  have  had  time  to  examine  it 
critically,  through  the  exercise  of  their  conscious  powers, 
they  must  judge  of  it  instinctively  through  the  exercise 
of  their  unconscious  promptings.  This  principle  applies, 
not  only  to  their  use,  for  purposes  of  expression,  of  im- 
aginative words  and  imitative  drawings,  but  to  their 
whole  methods  of  conceiving  of  the  material  world.  The 
boy  hears  of  a  sailor  or  of  a  general,  and  for  the  very 
reason  that  he  has  had  no  experience  of  the  life  led  by 
either,  he  imagines  it,  and  the  man  in  the  same  condition 
surmises  what  might  be  the  cx[)crience  of  a  fairy  or  of  a 
saint.      As  Shakespeare  says: 

TIiu  |)Oc-t,'s  eye  in  a  rme  fri'iiz}'  rullinfr 

Doth  _f;laiirc  fi-(»iii  liea\'eii  Id  earth,  Ironi  earlli  to  heaven, 

And,  as  inuiLiination  bo(lie>  forth 

The  fornix  of  thin^-  unhno\sii,   the  poel'^  |ien 

Tunis  ihein  to  shapes  an.l  Lt"i\es  to  air_\-  iiothini;' 

A  hieal  hahitalion  and  a  n;inie. 

.■/   Miil.\ii'/i )/irr  .\'i:;/il';  J)ri-(Uil,  7'.,   /. 

Or,  if  S]Kikc.s[)carc  belonged  to  an  unscientific   age,  let 


54  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

us  see  what  a  poet  of  our  own  age  has  to  say  on  the  same 
subject : 

Well  might  we  be  glad 
Lifted  above  the  ground  by  airy  fancies 
More  bright  than  madness  or  the  dreams  of  wine  ; 
And,  though  full  oft  the  olijects  of  our  love 
Were  false,  and  in  their  splendour  overwrought, 
Vet  was  there  surely  then  no  vulgar  power 
Working  within  us,  —  nothing  less,  in  truth, 
Tiian  that  most  noble  attribute  of  man. 
Though  yet  untutoretl  and  inordinate. 
That  wish  for  something  loftier,  more  adorned, 
'Idian  is  the  common  aspect,  daily  garb, 
Of  human  life. 

'J7ic  P>\lii,ic,  1-.:    U'ords7uoyth. 

Between  the  man  who  has  the  conception  of  the  things 
surrounding  him  that  is  represented  in  this  passage  and 
the  man  who  has  not,  there  is  the  widest  possible  differ- 
ence. The  former,  to  quote  from  Wordsworth  again,  is 
characterised  by 

a  mind 

That  feeds  upon  inlinity,  that  broods 

Over  the  daik  abyss,  intent  to  hear 

Its  voices  issuing  forth  to  silent  light 

In  one  continuous  stream  :   a  nund  sustained 

IJy  recogiutions  of  transcendent  i)0wer. 

In  sense  conducting  to  ideal  form. 

"J'hc  Prelude,  xiv.  :    W'ordsi.'orth. 

The  latter — the  man  of  no  imagination — passes  through 
life  in  the  condition  described  in  "Peter  Bell  "  : 

He  tra\elled  here,  he  tiavelled  there  ; — 
]>ut  nut  the  value  of  a  hair 
\N'as  heart  or  head  the  better. 

lie  ro\ed  among  the  vales  and  streams. 
In  the  I'reen  wood  and  hollow  dell. 


IMAGINATION  AND   EXCITEMENT.  55 

Tliey  were  his  dwellings  niglit  and  day, 
IJut  Natiiru  ne'er  cijuld  find  the  way 
Into  the  heart  of  Peter  liell. 

In  vain  through  every  ehangeful  year 
Did  Xature  lead  him  as  1)ef(ire  ; 
A  jirinirose  by  tlie  river's  l)rini 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  nnjre. 

Peter  Bell :    JVordswor/Ii. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  mind  in 
following  the  lead  of  these  instinctive  promptings  from 
the  subconscious  is  invariably  deluded.  It  is  often  guided 
aright.  It  is  exercising  with  reference  to  apparent  facts 
the  same  general  method  that  science  itself  is  obliged  to 
exercise  with  reference  to  investigated  facts.  As  inti- 
mated on  page  47,  the  subconscious  processes  of  mind 
which  underlie  the  ideality  of  imagination  are  often,  in 
the  highest  sense,  logical  and  rational.  Frecpiently,  the 
difference  between  the  artistic  and  scientific  method  might 
be  said  to  be  owing  merely  to  the  different  degrees  of 
ra[)idity  with  which  the  mind  is  moving.  Tliis  fact  will 
be  evident  upon  recalling  tin;  condition  usually  accom- 
[)anying  the  mind's  imaginati\-e  and,  therefore,  partially 
.subconscious  actions.  It  will  be  found  to  be  a  condition 
of  emotive  excitement.  la'sten  to  the  children  as  they 
watch  a  display  of  fireworks.  With  what  facility  they 
recognise  resemblances'  Roosters,  churches,  fans  and 
ffnintains, —these  are  what  they  imagine  to  be  in  shapes 
suggesting  nothing  to  their  parents.  Vet  wlien  souk; 
excitement  strong  (.-nough  to  appeal  to  these  latter  has 
succeeded  in  moving  them,  they,  too,  w\\\  bec(jme  unex- 
pectedly imaginative.  As  for  the  intelligent  artist,  there 
is  reason  to  stipp(;se   that   iinaginat i\'e  residts  in  his  case, 


56  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

also,  are  owing  to  mental  action  too  rapid  for  him  to  be 
conscious  of  all  its  processes.  This  fact,  indeed,  is  often 
very  effectively  represented  in  artistic  products,  especially 
in  literature,  the  words  of  which  are  particularly  fitted  to 
reveal  exactly  what  is  taking  place  in  the  thoughts  to 
which  the  words  give  expression.  Recall  the  ellipses  and 
consequent  obscurit}-  in  which  writers  like  Carlyle  and 
l^rowning  indulge.  In  almost  every  instance  where  ob- 
scurity of  this  kind  is  observable,  some  additional  reflec- 
tion would  have  enabled  the  writer  to  recall  and  to  reveal 
the  missing  links  of  thought,  and  thus  to  give  his  expres- 
sions the  effects  of  critical  precision.  In  many  cases  we 
may  criticise  his  not  doing  this,  l^ut  had  he  done  it  in 
all  cases,  would  the  result  have  been  as  artistic  as  it  is? 
Thus  expressed,  would  it  not  have  represented  a  concep- 
tion in  all  of  its  details  clearly  present  to  the  conscious 
mind?  But  art,  as  we  have  found,  represents  a  concep- 
tion of  a  part  of  which  the  mind  is  conscious  and  of  a 
part  of  which,  because  due  to  subconscious  influence,  the 
mind  is  not  conscious.  Thus  this  effect  of  obscurit}-, 
so  often  recognised  as  being  for  some  vague  reason  par- 
ticularly artistic,  is  seen  to  be  so  because  it  accords  ex- 
actly with  the  requirements  of  art. 

Now,  taking  one  step  farther  backward,  let  us  find  out, 
if  wc  can,  the  con(iitions  which,  in  the  artist,  occasion 
the  emotion  which  in  turn  occasions  a  manifestation  in 
expression  of  the  results  of  subconscious  mental  action. 
What  gives  rise  to  this  emotion?  If  it  were  experienced 
only  now  and  then,  it  might  be  attributed  to  exceptional 
circumstances.  The  works  of  the  lesser  or  occasional 
artists  are  produced  amid  excitement  which  at  intervals 
avails  in  all  to  paralyse  the  logical  powers  and  to  stimu- 
late the  a.nalogical.      But  when,  as  in  the  greater  artists. 


EMOTION  IN    THE   ARTIST.  57 

such  phases  of  emotion  are  the  rule  and  not  the  exception, 
then  the  experience  must  be  attributed  mainly  to  tciiipcr- 
aincnt.  This  is  a  word  which,  as  will  be  noticed,  does  not 
refer  merely  to  physique,  but  to  a  certain  kind  of  mental 
action  which  naturally  accompanies  a  blendini^  of  effects, 
some  of  which  are  physical  and  some  mental,  some  of 
which  are  matters  of  nervous  sensation,  and  some  mat- 
ters of  thought.  Lord  Karnes,  in  his  "l^.lcments  of 
Criticism,"  says  that  "thought,  as  prompted  by  passion 
or  feeling,  is  sentiment."  According  to  Schiller,  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  Goethe,  "it  is  a  want  of  the  poetic 
nature,  not  to  say  of  the  human  mind  geneially,  to  bear 
around  it  as  little  as  possible  that  is  v^oid,  to  appropriate 
to  itself,  through  feeling,  as  much  as  is  going  on.  .  .  . 
Always  is  the  sentimental — in  a  good  sense — an  effect  of 
the  poetic  endeavour." 

A  slight  attempt  to  recall  the  foremost  trait  of  expres- 
sion distinguishing  any  man  who  has  given  himself  to  the 
study  and  production  of  art  will  verify  by  facts  this  con- 
clusion of  Schiller.  Is  it  not  true  that  artists  and  poets, 
and  often  even  mere  admirers  of  music,  painting,  sculp- 
ture, or  poetry,  are  persons  given  above  all  things  to 
sentiment?  Can  we  not  perceive  this  sometimes  in  their 
very  gaits  and  gestures,  in  the  involuntary  waverings  of 
their  lips,  in  the  unconscious  bewilderment  of  their  e\^es? 
Does  not  the  very  sight  of  them  often  make  us  feel  that 
they  are  men  who  have  been  exhilarated,  if  not  intoxi- 
cated, by  drinking  in  thoughts  that  brim  above  the  com- 
monplace; that  they  are  men  whose  mcjtKJs  are  lo\'al  to 
an  all-pervading  sovereigntx'  of  soul?  Can  we  not  often 
detect,  behind  all  that  tliuv  do  or  say,  tlie  spiritual  force 
of  unseen  idealit)',  the  unsell'i^hness  r.f  non-material  j)ui- 
pose,  the  virtue  of  uncom[Kjlled  inchi-^lrv,  the  enthusiasm 


58  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

that  revels  amid  dim  twilights  of  inquiry  and  starry  mid- 
nights of  aspiration?  How  different  is  their  mien  from 
that  of  those  who  manifest  none  of  their  vaguer,  softer 
qualities,  but  pride  themselves  upon  the  fact  that  they 
are  sharp !  And,  verily,  too  often  they  are  sharp,  their 
very  visages  whittled  to  a  point  like  snow-ploughs  on  a 
wintry  track  that  always  draw  attention  downward  and 
cleave  through  paths  that  chill.  The  brightness  of  their 
eyes  is  that  of  diamonds  that  are  used  only  to  cut,  the 
summons  of  their  voices  that  of  trumpets  that  are  ever 
blowing  of  their  own  sut'hcienc}\  Xo  radiance  of  a  spirit- 
ual light  that  streams  from  inward  vision-;,  is  haloed  from 
the  one.  No  call  toward  a  sphere  too  subtle  to  be 
heralded  by  augl;t  except  "the  still  small  voice  "  is 
echoed  from  the  other.  What  is  lacking  in  the  methods 
of  mental  action  of  men  like  these,  as  every  one  who 
knows  the  highest  possibilities  of  art  can  testify,  is  the 
kind  of  culture  which  leads  to  the  conception  within  and 
the  expression  without  of  sentiment — not  sentimentalit}', 
which  is  always  selfish,  as  well  as  a  caricature,  and  an 
effect  not  based  upon  facts;  but  vigorous  man!}"  senti- 
ment, something  rooted  deep  in  common-sense  but  yet 
not  common;  rather  its  uncommon  development  when 
the  material  branch  and  leaf,  grown  upward,  burst  into 
that  which  sheds  the  fragrance  of  the  spirit's  ilower. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ARTISTIC    RKSl'LTS    AS    DETKRMIXED    V,Y  TEMPERAMENT, 
TRAIXIXC;,    PRACTICE,    AND    SKILL. 

IIow  the  Artistic  Differs  from  the  Scientific  Mind  —  Some  Unfitted  l)y 
Nature  to  l)ecome  Artists — The  Effect  of  Education  in  Trainins^ 
Ability  to  Use  wlial  has  been  Store<l  in  the  Minil — Ability  to  Use  this 
Depends  on  the  Physical  I'ower  of  the  Praia — This  can  be  Develope(l 
by  Practice — Idds  Dexelopment  can  Extend  to  that  whicji  Involves  the 
Possession  of  Genius — '['raining  Affects  tlie  (Quality  of  Subject-Matter 
as  well  as  of  Style  —  Tlie  Ability  to  (ii\e  I^\[lres^io^  to  Subconscious 
Inspiration  which  Characterises  (ienius  is  aPo  Due  to  Skill  Acquired 
liy  Practict^ — Sidx'onscious  I'owers  can  be  Culti\  ated  throui^li  Training 
the  Conscious,  as  in  the  Case  of  Memory — Of  Critical  Ability — The 
Degree  of  \\'(.)rk  is  .\\)l  to  Measure  the  Degree  of  Worth — Any  Devel- 
opment in  the  Mind  may  Contribute  to  Artistic  Develoi)ment. 

OUCII  a  conclusion  as  the  one  drawn  at  the  end  of  the 
precedinf:^  chapter  sui^gests  that  we  liave,  probably, 
reached  at  List  an  ultimate  fact  beyond  which  analysis 
cannot  i;"o.  It  is  the  i^round  on  which  was  based  that  old 
ex[)ression  :  "The  pcjet  is  born  and  not  made."  Lest, 
however,  we  exaj^t^erate  the  dilferences  between  men  thus 
indicated,  let  us  try  to  ascertain  precisely  what  that  tem- 
perament is  which  ma\-  be  rightly  termed  artistic.  h^rom 
what  has  been  said  ,'ilready,  we  must  infer  that,  primarily, 
it  is  one  that  is  (piick  in  apprehendin;,;-  effects  of  nature, 
in  makdip^'  conii)arisons  between  tlu'se  effects,  and  in 
drawiiv^'  surmisals  from  them.  All  children,  because 
their    brains   are   active,    are    artistic   in   their  tendencies. 


6o  THE   ESSEXTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

The  very  essence  of  artistic  imitation  is  mimicry;  and 
what  child  is  entirely  destitute  of  this?  When  men  arrive 
at  maturity,  the  artistic  mind,  as  distinguished  from  the 
scientific,  continues  to  form  theories  before  it  reasons 
them  out,  and  to  imagine  truth  before  it  investigates.  If 
one  naturally  of  an  artistic  temperament  ever  does  reach 
results  that  are  scientific,  this  term  "scientific"  cannot 
be  applied  to  the  movement  of  his  mind  preparatory  to 
these.  Instead  of  advancing  step  by  step  to\v;ird  his 
end,  he  first  jumps  to  his  conclusions,  as  Newton  is  said 
to  have  done  when,  from  the  falling  of  an  apple,  he  sur- 
mised the  law  of  gravitation;  and  then  turns  backward 
to  discoxxT  and  reveal  what  might  have  been  the  inter- 
vening steps.  Notice,  nevertheless,  that  this  method  of 
mental  action  is  that  which  is  most  allied  to  the  method 
which  the  \\\)rld  usually  attributes  to  genius.  The  artist 
works  almost  exclusively  in  this  wa}',  so  the  world  sup- 
poses that  he  must  be  a  genius  necessarily.  The  scien- 
tific nicin  has  \'ery  much  to  do  besides  surmising  and 
inventing;  so  the  world  confines  the  title  genius  to  the 
{<iw  scientific  minds  pre-eminent  in  doing  these  latter. 

However,  all  men  ha\-e  emotion.  All  may  be  strongly 
moved,  and,  in  such  circunistances,  the  minds  of  all  may 
l)e  subject  to  subconscious  action.  But  when  we  try  to 
aiiswer  the  ([uestion, —  To  wluit  extent  ma\-  one  as  com- 
pared with  another  be  subiect  to  this?  we  find  the  dif- 
ferenc'S  between  men  almost  \\orld-wide.  We  must 
conclude,  therefore,  tliat  large  numbers  are  by  nature 
excluded  from  the  sphere  of  action  of  the  artist.  They 
are  too  cautious,  too  much  under  the  control  of  conscious- 
ness, or,  as  wc  say,  self-consciousness,  to  give  themselves 
uj)  to  the  abandon  of  subconscious  mental  activity.  They 
are   like   those  whom  Alozart  had  in  mind  when   he  said; 


LEAVING    FOR   WORK-  -J.    F.    MILLET. 

"■'■  I'l'-;'-'  '^').  ')".  'J?.  ')'•  !'.)"• 
(,i 


62  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

"If  you  think  how  you  arc  to  write,  you  will  never  write 
anythiui^  worth  hearing.  I  write  because  I  cannot  help 
it."  They  are  like  orators — and,  for  that  matter,  sculp- 
tors and  musicians — who  never  lose  themselves  in  their 
subjects,  and,  therefore,  ne\'er  become  effective.  It 
might  be  almost  said  that  faith  in  the  results  of  that 
which  is  beyond  the  sphere  of  consciousness  enables  one 
to  reach  the  .esthetic  paradise  no  less  than  the  heavenly. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  easy  to  emphasise  unduly  the 
natural  differences  between  men.  It  is  easy  to  suppose 
that  one  has  no  artistic  ability,  when  in  reality  he  has  a 
great  deal  of  it.  \"ery  often,  though  latently  present,  it 
has  merely  not  been  brought  to  the  light.  It  is  eas\-, 
therefore,  to  ignore  the  methods  through  which  whatever 
artistic  possibilities  one  may  possess  may  be  cultivated. 
These  methods  may  be  best  understood,  if  we  start  with 
a  conception  of  the  influence  upon  mental  action  of  edu- 
cation in  general.  From  this  conceptiv.n  the  transition 
will  be  easy  to  that  of  the  particular  effect  upon  educa- 
tion produced  by  art-stud}-.  The  word  education  is 
composed  of  the  two  Latin  words,  r.  meaning  from  or 
out  of,  and  diicorc,  meaning  to  lead.  Hut  why  should  /(' 
educate  mean  to  lead  from  or  out  of  .^  Is  it  possible  to 
ask  this  question  without  having  suggested  what  was  said 
on  page  44?  It  was  there  noticed  that  all  that  \ve  con- 
sciously experience  through  the  agenc_\-  either  of  the 
physical  senses  or  of  psychological  intellection  passes  into 
the  mind's  regions  of  subconsciousness.  Here,  though 
much  appears  to  be  lost,  probabi)-  nothing  actually  is 
lost.  That  it  always  remains  seems  to  be  abundantly- 
proved  by  the  results  of  abnormal  excitation,  as  in  friglit, 
fever,  and  hypnotism.  If  this  be  so.  the  problem  of 
education   has  to   do   not  with    the  methods  of  obtaining 


ARTISTIC    TRAINING.  63 

information  from  without,  so  much  as  of  bringing  back 
to  consciousness  information  ah'eady  stored  within.  The 
mind  that  is  best  able  to  bring  this  back  at  the  right 
times  and  places,  is  the  best  educated. 

Now  on  what  does  the  ability  of  the  mind  to  do  this 
depend?  There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  it  depends 
largely  upon  the  equality  and  comparative  strength  of  the 
physical  brain  through  which  one  does  his  work.  It  is 
said  that  the  brains  of  Daniel  Webster  and  of  i\mos 
Lawrence,  a  successful  merchant  of  J^oston,  both  of  whom 
died  about  the  same  time,  were  compared,  and  were 
found  to  be  of  very  nearly  the  same  size  and  weight,  but 
the  convolutions  in  the  brain  of  Webster  were  found  to 
be  more  numerous.  That  is  to  say,  his  brain  was  of  finer 
physical  fibre.  That  mental  ability  depends  upon  the 
physical  strength  of  the  brain  may  be  shown  in  another 
way.  (jive  a  small  child  a  message  to  deliver,  and  he 
will  bring  it  up  to  consciousness  with  difficulty,  hesitat- 
ing between  almost  every  word.  "  AI}-  mother — wishes 
-  -wishes — me — to — to  " — etc.  Hut  the  same  child  after 
a  year  or  two,  when  older  and  stronger  physically,  will 
ex[)erience  little  of  this  difficulty,  and,  after  attaining 
manhood,  none  whatever,  eveii  though  the  communica- 
tion to  be  recalled  be  a  thousand  times  more  complex. 

It  is  not,  however,  merely  the  [)assage  of  time  and  its 
inlluence  u[)on  growth  that  can  strengthen  our  physical 
powers.  The  same  effect  may  be  [M'^duced  by  training, 
esijccially  b_\'  that  form  of  it  wliich  we  give  to  ourselves 
through  firm //(■(■.  We  know  this  to  be  true  as  api)lie{l  to 
our  hands  and  voices.  Why  shindd  it  not  be  true  as 
applied  to  our  brains"--  Ikit  notice  that  if  it  be  true  as 
applied  to  tliese,  and  if  all  that  was  said  in  tlie  last  para- 
graph  be   also   true,  then    / rui/iiiii;-  can  do  much  more  for 


64  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

artistic  development  than  some  suppose.  It  can  produce 
facility  not  only  in  outward  expression,  giving  the  singer, 
orator,  or  actor  a  tlexible  voice  or  a  graceful  body,  or 
the  musician,  painter,  or  sculptor  dexterity  in  the  use  of 
fingers,  brush,  or  chisel.  It  can  produce  facility  in  the 
processes  of  inward  preparation  for  expression,  enabling 
the  mind  to  draw  at  will  from  the  subconscious  resources 
that  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  artistic  invention  and 
inspiration. 

It  is  true,  of  course,  that  no  amount  of  practice  can 
enable  some  to  become  artists,  and  that  in  exceptional 
cases  or  upon  extraordinary  occasions  some  may  produce 
genuine  works  of  art  who  have  practised  little;  but,  as  a 
rule,  practice  is  indispensable  if  one  wish  to  attain  the 
characteristics  supposed  to  be  possessed  habitually  by 
the  great  artists.  We  find  this  fact  illustrated  almost 
universally.  Of  course,  there  are  a  few  exceptional  cases 
like  that  of  Mozart,  mentioned  on  page  47.  For  hirn, 
notwithstanding  the  instruction  that  he  received,  practice 
dues  not  seem  t()  have  been  absolutely  indispensable. 
And  it  was  not  so,  say  some,  because  he  was  a  genius. 
Init  let  us  think  a  moment.  Might  he  not  have  been  a 
genius,  and  also  have  been  obliged  to  cultivate  his  powers? 
In  fact,  in  later  life,  did  he  not  cultivate  them?  Again, 
was  not  Jieethoven  a  genius?  Vet  when  he  was  three 
years  old  he  Icnew  nothing,  so  far  as  \\-e  are  aware,  of 
music;  and  verv  little  when  he  was  eight.  But  after  he 
li;id  practised  many  hours  a  day  for  ten  or  fifteen  years, 
he  could  do  as  well  as  Mozart  could  in  early  manhood; 
and  not  only  .-o,  but  a  few  years  later  he  could  do  better 
than  Mozart  ever  could.  Not  a  few  to-day  consider  Jk^e- 
tho\'en  the  greater  genius  of  the  two. 

Wiiat  is  true  of  music  is  true  of  everv  art.      There  was 


ARTISTIC.    TRAINING.  65 

DcMTiosthcncs.  yVs  most  of  us  have  heard,  when  he  first 
ventured  before  an  audience,  his  stammerin^j  articulation, 
interrupted  respiration,  ungraceful  gestures,  and  ill-ar- 
ranged periods  brought  upon  him  general  ridicule.  What 
was  it  necessary  for  him  to  do  in  order  to  speak  artist- 
ically? lo  Lhink,  every  time  that  he  came  before  the 
public,  of  his  articulation,  respiration,  gestures,  and 
periods?  Had  he  pursued  this  course,  he  never  could 
have  waxed  elo([uent,  !)ecai,ise  he  never  could  have 
entered  into  his  theme  with  unconscious  abandon.  What 
he  did,  was  to  withdraw  altogether  from  the  public  until, 
by  a  course  of  persistent  practice,  he  had  trained  himself 
for  his  work.  Xor  must  it  be  supposed  that  the  results 
in  his  case,  or  in  that  of  any  other  man  practising  simi- 
larly, were  confined,  or  could  be  confined,  to  such  as  can 
be  manifested  merely  in  external  manner  or  style.  Many 
find  the  strongest  i;ulic;ition  of  wh.at  they  term  the  in- 
spired genius  of  IIenr\-  Ward  Beecher  in  his  marvellous 
illustrative  ability,  in  his  imaginative  facility  in  arguing 
from  analogy.  He  himself,  in  his"\'ale  Lectures,"  said 
that  not  oidy  did  he  [)ract i-;e  elocution  "incessantly  for 
tlu'ee  years,"  but  that,  while  in  later  life  it  was  as  easy 
for  him  to  use  illustrations  as  to  l)reathe,  he  did  not  have 
this  power  to  any  such  extent  in  his  early  manhood,  but 
cultivated  it. 

The  problem  of  exj)i  es.-ional  art  is  how  to  train  the 
conscious  agLiicies  (jf  expression  so  that  they  shall  rc- 
s[)on(l  without  iiiterfereiici:  to  the  promptings  of  subcon- 
scious agencies.  I'he  mu:-ician  has  alwavs  practicallv 
sol\-c(l  this  problem  when  he  is  pouring  his  \\h(jle  soul 
into  liis  mu'-ic,  unconscious  of  an)-t]ii,ig  but  the  emo- 
tional effect  that  In,-  (U:^ires  to  produce  u])on  the  souls  of 
his  hearers.      The   sculptor   and    ijie  painter   have   always 


66  7V/E   ESSENTIALS   OE  .I'.STIIETICS. 

solved  it  when  they  arc  projecting-  into  line  or  colour, 
unconscious  of  being  hampered  by  any  thought  of  tech- 
nique, that  image  which  keen  observation  of  the  outer 
world  has  impressed  upon  their  conceptions.  Tlie  poet 
has  always  solved  it  when  he  has  lost  himself  in  his 
theme,  unconscious  of  anything  except  that  to  which 
Milton  refers  in  "Paradise  Lost,"  ix.,  when  he  says 
that  it 

— dictates  to  me  slimil)cring,  or  inspires 
I\asy  my  unpremeilitateil  verse. 

l^ut,  now,  this  method,  of  which  we  remain  unconscious, 
through  wlu'ch  tlioughts  and  emotions  pass  from  the  sub- 
conscious mind  througli  the  conscious  mind,  and  out  of 
it  again  into  the  details  of  form,  is  the  result  of  what 
most  men  mean  when  they  use  the  term  artistic  inspiia- 
ticn.  Yet  notice  that  it  is  often,  too,  even  in  cases  of  the 
most  indisputable  genius,  a  result,  in  part  at  least,  of 
skill  accpiired  by  practice. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that,  although  tliere  is  a  wide 
separation  between  the  conscious  and  the  subconscituis 
powers,  the  mind  as  a  whole  is  one,  and  almost  any 
method  of  cultivating  one  part  of  it  invol\-es  cidtivating 
other  parts.  What  forms  of  mental  action  can  seem 
more  widely  separated  than  those  of  memory  and  of 
imagination?  ^'et  tliere  is  truth  in  what  R.  S.  Dallas 
sa\'s  in  "The  day  .Science,"  tliat  "it  is  not  so  much  to  a 
trained  invention  as  to  a  trailed  memoi}'  that  the  poet 
who  seeks  for  variety  must  chieilx'  tru-^t  ;  and  it  will  be 
found  that  all  great  poets,  all  great  artists,  all  great  in- 
ventors, arc  men  of  great  memory — their  unconscious 
memorv  being  even  greater  than  that  of  which  the}'  are 
conscious.      And  thus   far,  at   least,  we  can  see  a  deei:)er 


AKTISTIC    TRAINING.  6/ 

wisdom    in    the   doctrine  of  the  (jreeks  that  the   ?^Iuscs 
were  all  dauj^hters  of  Mnemosyne." 

Let  it  not  be  thouijht,  then,  that  education,  experi- 
ence, and  learning"  unfit  one  for  those  pursuits  which  are 
usually  supposed  to  necessitate  i^'enius.  Milton  wrote 
little  poetr}'  until  he  had  finished  his  argumentative  and 
political  work.  Goethe  and  Schiller  both  profited  much 
from  the  discriminating  scientific  criticism  to  which,  as 
appears  in  their  correspondence,  they  were  accustomed 
to  submit  their  productions;  at  all  events,  they  achieved 
their  greatest  successes  subsequent  to  it.  And  with 
criticism  olaying  all  about  his  horizon,  like  lightnings 
from  every  cpuirter  of  the  heavens,  who  can  calculate  how 
niuch  of  the  splendour  of  Shakespeare  is  attributable  to 
this  by-[ila\'  among  the  circle  of  dramatists  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded"'  With  new  forms  rising  still  like  other 
\'enuses  above  the  miasmas  of  the  old  Campagna,  who 
can  estimate  how  much  the  excellence  of  the  Italian 
artists  has  been  owing  to  the  opportunities  affprded  in 
historic  Rome  for  critical  study? 

The  results  of  art  have  nc^t  disproved  that  universal 
princ![)le  according  to  which  the  degree  of  labour,  medi- 
ate or  immediate,  generally  measures  the  degree  of 
w(Mth.  A,  bountiful  exuberance  of  imagination  usually 
accom[)anies  abounding  information.  Tlie  anal(\gies  of 
the  poet  arc  usuall\-  most  natural  to  the  mind  that  has 
made  tlie  most  scrupulous  study  of  nature.  Truth, 
Cf)mprL-hensi\'(jness,  and  greatness,  manifested  in  artistic 
])ri)ducts,  <are  usuallv  cr\-stallis;it  ions  (T  the  accuracx', 
bi-eadlh,  and  kirgeness  of  the  formative  thought  occasion- 
iiTj-  them. 


CHAPTER    V 


ARTISTIC    FORM    AM)    SICXIFICAXCE. 


Review  of  the  rhoui;ln  in  I'receilini:;  Chapters — )-;epri)duction  of  Beauty 
Xeeessitating  Attention  to  hotli  Form  and  Significance — Meaning  of  the 
Term  "Form"  in  Art — Of  tlie  Term  "  Signiticance  " — Tlie  Xeeessity 
for  ("living  Due  Consideration  to  both — Kegard  for  Form  and  Disregard 
of  Signiticance  in  Fainting — In  Sculpture,  Architecture,  Music,  and 
I'oetrv — How  I'ar  tlie  Artist  must  Consciousl_\-  Regard  (_  laims  of  Sig- 
nilicance  —  Regard  for  Significance  and  Disregard  of  Form  in  Foetry 
and  Fainting — In  Architecture  —  In  Music — Regard  for  Fornr  and  for 
Signiticance  Xeed  not  be  Antagoiiistic — Reason  for  Applying  to  the 
Higher  Arts  the  Term  "  Representative." 

T^HE  opening  chapter  of  this  book  undertook  to  show- 
that  art  which  is  such  in  the  finest  aiul  most  distinc- 
tive sense  has  to  deal  witli  tlie  siglits  and  sounds  of  nature, 
with  human  thoughts  and  emotions,  and  with  i:)roducts 
external  to  the  artist.  In  Cha[)ters  IE,  III,,  and  I\'., 
certain  limitations  were  placed  u[)on  each  of  these  condi- 
tions. Tliis  art  was  saitl  to  he  confined  to  such  sights 
and  sounds  as  are  beautifid,  to  such  tlioughts  and  emo- 
tioiFs  as  are  largely  tluc  to  tlie  subcoiF-^cious  action  ('f 
the  mind,  when  innncnced  b\'  emotion  and  stimulating 
imagination,  and  to  stich  products  external  to  the  arti>t 
as  embody  the  other  two  conditions  instinctiveU",  or  as 
a  result  of  skill,  acquired  bv  practice.  In  this  cha[)ter, 
an  endeavour  will  be  made  to  limit  the  province  of  these 
higher  arts  still  further,  aiul  in  such  a  way  as  to  indicate 
a  single  piin.ci[)Ie  ap[)licable  to  all  of  them  in  all  of  these 

6S 


FORM  AND    SIGNIFICANCE.  69 

relations,   whether  considered  as  rearrangements  of   na 
ture,  as  expressions  of  thoughts  and  emotions,  or  as  \)\o- 
ducts  external  to  the  artist. 

We  will  begin  with  a  suggestion  derived  from  the  fact 
that  high  art  deals  with  sights  and  sounds  that  are  beauti- 
ful. Beaut}',  as  we  have  found,  depends  upon  elfects 
upon  both  the  senses  and  the  mind.  But  if  this  be  so, 
sights  or  sounds  used  in  art  must  produce  effects  upon 
both,  'i^hey  can  evidciitly  do  this  so  far  only  as,  together 
with  effucts  peculiar  to  ap[)earances,  the\-  convey  also  cer- 
tain effects  ])eculiar  to  a  significance  underlying  the  a])- 
pcarances.  This  introduces  us  to  the  controversx'  in  art 
as  to  the  relative  or  exclu.-ive  importance  of  form  and  of 
si_i:;)n  ficaihw 

The  term  form,  derived  from  the  Latin  word  fi>rma, 
meaning  an  apfcarniicc,  refers,  primarily,  to  anything 
that  can  be  perceivetl  by  the  senses,  and,  in  the  higher 
arts,  for  reasons  given  on  l)agc  S,  by  one  of  two  senses, 
• — that  of  hearing  or  of  seeing.  Init,  be.-^ides  this,  the 
terni  has  a  secondary  and  metaphorical  meaning;  it  refers 
to  anv  conce])tion  the  whole  and  the  parts  of  which  a])- 
l)eal  to  the  imaginatioti — /.  (■.,  the  imagining  })ower  of  the 
mind  —  in  a  clearly  articidated,  distinctlx'  outlined,  or 
graphic  wa\',  so  that  one  m  ly  liken  the  conception  to  a 
thing  that  the  senses  can  perceix'e.  This  is  the  use  of 
the  word  which  iu^tifies  one  in  '^peakdiig  of  the  form  of  an 
oiation  or  a  drama,  or  of  a  storm-scene  or  a  battU'-scene, 
which  latter  he  may  have  onlv  in  mind  without  an\'  in- 
tention of  ever  actualK-  putting  it  into  tlu:  f(n-m  of  a 
picture. 

1  he  term  siyiii fomioo  refeTs  to  that  which  is  su])posed 
to  be  indicated  to  the  mind  through  the  form.  Some- 
times the  form   indicates  this  on  account  of  what  it   is  in 


yO  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  ^ESTHETICS. 

itself,  as  when  the  picture  of  a  man  k)okiny;  intently  at  an 
object  makes  us  think  that  he  is  studyini^  it.  JUit  some- 
times the  form  in  itself  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  sig- 
nificance, which  it  only  suggests  by  way  of  association. 
For  instance,  in  certain  circumstances,  by  hanging  out  a 
national  flag,  or  by  wearing  the  national  colours,  \vc  may 
manifest  our  patriotism.  The  flags  and  colours  are  the 
forms  through  which,  because  \wc\\  can  see  them,  we  in- 
dicate the  patriotism  which  men  cannot  see.  The  flags 
and  colours  are  the  signals,  the  patriotism  is  the  thing 
signified,  or  the  sii^iiificajicc.  This  illustration  will  indi- 
cate what  is  meant  in  art  hy  form  and  by  the  sisruifcaiicc 
expressed  through  the  form.  Very  many  forms  which 
an  artist  can  use  inevitably  suggest — on  account  of  what 
they  are  in  themselves,  or  of  their  a,-sociations — one  con- 
ception and  no  other.  Therefore,  in  reproducing  them, 
the  artist  must  treat  them  not  as  mere  forms,  but  as 
forms  which,  by  way  of  nature  or  of  ordinary  use,  have  a 
definite  meaning.  If,  for  instaiice,  we  ask  a  sculptor  who 
has  tried  to  lepresent  a  certain  character,  why  a  hand 
has  been  moulded  so  as  to  produce  a  gestuie  with  the 
palm  up  instead  of  down,  he  cannot  give  a  satisfactory 
answer  by  saying  that  he  has  moulded  it  thus  for  the 
sake  merely  of  the  form,  in  case  he  mean  to  use  this 
word  as  indicating  an  apfcaraucc.  One  gesture,  if  well 
made,  may  appear  as  well  as  another.  The  difference 
between  the  two  is  wholly  a  difference  of  meaning,  of 
sifpnificaiicc. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  the  importance  of  both  form 
and  significance  as  thus  explained,  as  well  as  the  import- 
ance of  the  artist's  considering  both,  when  engaged  in,  his 
work,  would  be  conceded  without  argument.  Hut  such 
is  not  the  case.      Because  art  must  have,  as  all  admit,  a 


THE  GIRLHOOD  O^   THE  VIRGIN    MARY.      R03SETTI 

Sec   [.a-c  ')<>. 


72  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  yESTHETlCS. 

form  reproducing  in  some  way  an  appearance  of  nature, 
there  are  those  who  affirm  that  regard  for  forms  ah)ne  is 
sufficient;  that  if  attention  be  concentrated  upon  them, 
the  signiticance  may,  so  to  speak,  take  care  of  itsch'. 
Others  again,  because  art  must  be,  as  all  admit,  signiticant 
of  thoughts  and  feelings,  affirm  that  regard  for  what  is  to 
be  expressed  is  sufficient ;  that  if  attention  be  concen- 
trated upon  this,  the  form  may,  so  to  speak,  take  care  of 
itself. 

The  first  of  these  views  was  well  illustrated  by  a  story 
which  the  author  heard  recently  well  applauded  at  an 
artists'  public  diimer.  It  was  said  that  some  one,  in  a 
French  gallery,  noticed  two  painters  approach  a  picture, 
and  heard  them  discuss  the  colouring  of  some  fowls. 
After  about  five  minutes  they  turned  away;  and,  just  as 
they  were  doing  so,  one  of  them  said  to  the  other:  "By 
the  way,  what  was  that  picture  about?  Did  }-ou  notice?"  " 
"Xo,"  said  the  other.  Xow,  while  this  story  illustrates 
the  kind  of  interest  which  not  only  the  painter,  but  the 
artist  in  any  art — music,  poetr)-,  scul[)ture,  or  arcliitcc- 
ture, — necessarily  comes  to  ha\'c  in  the  techni(iue  of  liis 
specialty,  it  does  not  illustrate  all  the  interest  which  one 
should  have  who  has  a  true  conception  of  what  art  can 
do  for  people  in  general.  It  docs  not  illustrate  the  sort 
of  interest  that  .'\ngelo  or  Raphael  had  in  their  ])roduc- 
tions.  On  a  Sunday,  one  could  sit  for  an  hour  before  the 
Sistine  Madonna  of  the  latter,  and  feel  more  benefited 
tnan  in  most  of  the  churches.  Xor  in  this,  nor  in  many 
another  picture  would  the  chief  benefit  be  traceable  to 
that  which  had  to  do  with  the  form,  /.  v..  the  appearance 
aside  from  the  significance  or  the  thoughts  or  feelings 
expressed  through  the  appearance.  "Me  is  wliat  I  call 
a  vulgar  painter,"   said  a  critic,    some   tinie   ago,    when 


ARTISTIC   SIGXIFICANCE.  73 

speaking  of  an  artist.  "Arc  you  getting  etliical  in  \-our 
tastes?"  was  asked.  "Xot  tliat,"  he  answered,  "but 
don't  you  remember  that  picture^  of  a  little  girl  by  Sar- 
gent in  the  National  Academy  Exhibition  last  )-car? 
Vou  could  n't  glance  at  it,  in  the  most  superficial  way, 
without  recognising  at  once  that  it  was  a  child  of  high- 
toned,  probably  intellectual,  spii  iiually-minded,  aristo- 
cratic parentage  and  surroundings.  Now,  if  the  man  of 
whom  I  was  spe.d-cmg  had  painted  that  child,  he  could 
not  have  kept  tiom  making  her  look  like  a  coarse-haired, 
hide-skinned  peasant."  It  is  cas\'  to  perceive  that,  if 
this  criticism  were  justifiable,  the  fault  indicated  would 
be  largely  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  aitist  to  recognise 
the  thouy;his  and  feelings  that  men  naturally  as.-ociate 
with  certain  appearances  of  line  and  colour.  It  would 
be  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  had  never  learned 
that  the  r(jund,  ruddy  form  of  the  vital  temperament  that 
blossoms  amid  the  breeze  and  sunshine  of  the  open  field 
has  a  very  different  sii^iiificaiicc  from  the  inore  complex 
and  delicate  curves  and  colours  that  appear  where  the 
nervous  temps-rament  i-.  ri[)eiied  behind  the  sheltering 
window-panes  of  the  htud\-.  An  artist  believing  in  sii^- 
nificance  merely  enough  to  recognise  the  neces>it_\'  of 
representing  it  in  some  way  could,  with  a  very  few  thrusts 
of  his  knife,  to  say  nothing  of  his  brush,  at  one  and  the 
same  time  relieve  the  inflammation  of  chapped  cheeks, 
and  inject  int(^  the  veins  some  of  the  blue  blood  of 
aristocrac\\ 

A  similar  principle  api)lies  to  sculpture  and  architec- 
ture. Till-  imi)rcssion  conveyed  b\-  a  statue  is  produced 
b_\'  its  significance  for  the  mind — /.  c,  1)\'  the  sul)ject 
rejjresented  in  its  pose,  gesture's,  and  facial  exj^ression — 
fully  a-  much  as  bv  the  mathematics  of  its  profjortions  or 


74  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

by  the  imitative  skill  manifested  in  its  chiselling.  Sim- 
ilarly in  the  impression  conveyed  by  a  building,  the 
embodiment  of  the  mental  conception  in  the  general 
arrangements  causing  them  to  be  representative  of  the 
plan  of  the  whole,  or  to  be  illustrative  of  special  contriv- 
ances of  construction  in  the  parts,  is  fully  as  important 
as  the  character  of  the  masonry  or  the  colouring  or  the 
harmony  of  the  outlines.  So  with  music  and  poetry. 
When  we  are  discussing  th(3  influence  upon  thought  or 
emotion  of  consecutive  or  conflicting  themes  or  scenes  in 
an  opera  of  Wagner,  or  a  dram;i  of  Shakespeare,  we  are 
talking  about  that  which,  though  partly  conditioned  upon 
laws  of  musical  or  poetic  form,  as  we  ordinarily  use  the 
term,  nevertheless,  transcends  them.  In  mere  jingle  the 
principles  of  rhythm  and  harmony  can  be  fulfilled  almost 
as  perfectly  as  in  the  most  inspired  and  sublime  com- 
position. This  fact  seems  to  be  self-evident.  Vet,  in  his 
" Degeneracy,"  Max  Xordau  quotes  Theophile  Gautier 
as  saying:  "For  the  poet  words  have,  in  themselves 
and  outside  the  sense  they  express,  a  beauty  and  a  value 
of  their  own.  Nothing  is  less  ideal  than  a  poet";  also 
the  following  from  Charles  BauLlelaire:  "If  a  poet  have 
pursued  a  moral  aim,  it  is  not  impudent  to  wager  that 
his  work  will  be  bad.  Poetry  has  not  truth  for  its  object, 
it  has  only  itself  "  ;  and  this  from  Gustave  Maubert:  "A 
beautiful  verse  meaning  nothing  is  superior  to  a  verse 
less  beautiful  meaning  something."  "From  time  to 
time,"  says  Oscar  Wilde,  "the  world  cries  out  against 
some  charming,  artistic  poet,  because,  to  use  its  hack- 
neyed and  silly  phrase,  he  has  'nothing  to  say.'  It  is 
just  because  he  has  no  new  message  that  he  can  do  beau- 
tiful work."  Think  of  the  literary  prospects  of  a  country 
or  of  the  world;  of  the  possibility  of  its  receiving  any 


ARTISTIC   SIGXIl-ICAXCE.  75 

inspiring  impulses  from  its  [)octs  ;it  a  period  when  new 
authors,  writing  with  the  acknowledged  motives  of 
Dante,  Alilton,  or  Wordsworth,  would,  for  this  and  for  no 
other  reason,  fail  to  commend  themselves  to  the  leaders 
of  literary  opinion  ! 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said  of  the 
importance  of  significance,  that  the  author  intends  to 
assert  that  every  artist,  when  composing,  must  con- 
sciously think  of  significance  as  well  as  of  form.  Many  a 
child  unconsciously  gestures  in  a  form  exactly  indicative 
of  his  meaning.  l)ut  often,  owing  to  acquired  inllexibil- 
ity  or  unnaturalness,  the  same  child,  when  grown,  un- 
consciously gestures  in  a  form  not  indicative  of  his 
meaning.  What  then?  If  he  wish  to  be  an  actor,  he 
must  study  the  art  of  gesture,  and  for  a  time,  at  least, 
must  produce  the  right  gestures  consciously.  And  be- 
sides this,  whether  he  produce  them  consciousl\-  or  un- 
consciously, in  the  degree  in  which  Xvi  is  an  artist  in  the 
best  sense,  he  will  know  what  form  he  is  using,  and  wiiy 
lie  is  using  it.  The  same  i)rinci[jle  a[)i)lies  in  all  the  arts. 
The  simple  truth  is  that  the  human  mind  is  incapable  of 
taking  in  any  form  without  being  infcjrmed  of  something 
by  it;  and  it  is  the  bu.siness  of  intelligent,  not  to  say 
honest,  art  to  see  to  it  that  the  information  conve\-ed  is 
not  false,  that  the  thing  made  corresj)onds  to  the  thing 
meant. 

At  tlie  same  time,  it  is  equally  important  for  the  artist 
to  avoid  sup])Osing  that  to  [)ay  attention  to  significance, 
and  to  this  alone,  is  all  that  is  e,-^scntial.  (ioetlie  once 
said  that  his  ])oetry  had  been  a  continual  confession. 
Suppose  that  it  liac]  been  merely  a  confession.  Would 
*his  alone  have  iiiadL-  him  tlie  greatest  i)oet  of  his  time? 
To   become   surli,  did    Ik-   not   need,    besides   thinkinir  of 


6  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETICS. 


the  significance  of  that  which  he  was  to  say,  to  think  also 
of  the  form  in  which  he  was  to  say  it?  And  was  not  the 
significance  one  thing,  and  the  form — -the  versification, 
or  the  unity  of  the  ph^t — another  thing?  And  mi'dit  he 
not  have  paid  attention  to  the  one,  and  not  to  the  other? 
Most  certainly  he  might.  But  if  he  had  he  would  never 
have  ranked  where  he  does— with  Dante  and  Shakespeare. 
So  in  painting  and  sculpture.  The  figures  of  Benjamin 
West  and  Julius  Schnorr  are  arranged  more  el^ectivclv 
than  many  a  most  spectacularly  significant  climax  in  a 
drama;  those  of  Balthasar  Denner  and  hdorent  Willems 
manifest  the  most  scrupulous  regard  for  the  requirements 
of  line  and  colour.  Yet  because  exclusive  attention  to 
either  significance  or  form  led  all  of  them  to  neglect  one 
of  the  two.  they  never  can  rank  with  artists  of  which  this 
was  not  true — Raphael,  Titian,  and  Rubens. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  architecture. 
Twenty  }-ears  ago  large  numbers  of  people  were  talking 
about  sificcritv  in  this  art.  As  applied  to  building  a 
house,  this  meant  that  every  respective  closet  or  stair- 
case should  be  indicated  on  the  exterior  by  a  significantly 
constructed  window,  or  blank  space,  or  protuberance, — 
a  thoroughly  sound  principle  so  far  as  it  ^\■as  applicable. 
But  with  the  narrowness  and  the  lack,  in  a  distinctive 
sense,  of  coiiiprcheusiou  characterising  the  artistic  notions 
of  our  times,  the  principle  was  applied  to  e\-erything — to 
every  exterior  effect,  for  instance,  without  any  regard  to 
any  requirements  of  proportion  or  harmony.  The  result 
was  those  developments  of  the  "Oueen  Anne"  style, 
which  even  the  unbalanced  conceptions  of  contemporary 
criticism  had  sense  enough  to  nickname  "  Bloody  Mary" 
and  "Crazy  Jane."  Probably,  however,  even  these  were 
an  advance  upon  the  method   pursued   in   a  construction 


ARTISTIC  FORM.  77 

of  which  I  know,  in  which  the  exterior  was  completed 
before  the  builders  had  decided  upon  the  rooms  or  halls 
to  be  placed  in  the  interior. 

And  so  with  music.  The  difference  between  a  melody 
of  Offenbach  and  the  least  successful  rccitativc-\\o\V  of 
Wagner  is  the  difference  between  treating  musical  form 
as  if  it  were  wholly  a  matter  of  form,  and  as  if  it  were 
wholly  a  matter  of  significance.  The  difference  between 
both  and  the  best  music  of  Wagner,  and  of  Mozart,  Bee- 
thoven, and  Sullivan,  too,  i;  that  in  the  latter  the  im- 
portance of  both  form  and  significance  has  been  duly 
recognised. 

It  might  be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said  that  the 
requirements  of  form  and  of  significance  are  essentially 
different.  Indeed,  many  artists  and  critics,  apparently, 
imagine  that,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  one  of  the  two, 
they  must  subordinate  the  other  or  neglect  it  altogether. 
This  ^-upposition  has  led  to  two  schools  of  art,  the  one 
grounding  it,  primaril\-,  upon  imitation,  the  other  upon 
the  communication  of  thought  and  emotion.  lUit  why 
should  there  be  these  two  schools?'  A  man  usually  imi- 
tates a  form  because  he  has  had  some  thought  or  feeling 
in  connection  with  its  appearance,  —  in  (Uher  words,  be- 
cause it  has  suggested  something  to  Iiim,  because  it  has 
Iiad  for  him  some  significance.  'i'lie  \'eiy  existence  of 
art- form,  therefore,  invok'es  the  existence  of  siginficance. 
Again,  a  man  communicat  e's  thongliL  and  emotion 
through  a  form  beeaust-  these,  in  the  condition  in  which 
tliey  exist  in  the  mind,  cannot  be  heard  or  seen  h\' 
others.  They  must  be  expres-ed  andibU'  or  visibly; 
that  is  to  sa)-,  in  a  form.  'I'lie  existence  of  significance, 
tliere'fore,  if  one  would  make  it  l<nown,  invoK'es  the  use 
of  a  f(;rm. 


78  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTIIETICS. 

Actuatctl  by  these  su<^!^c.stion.s,  as  well  as  by  a  know- 
ledge of  the  influence  often  exerted  upon  conception  by 
a  single  term  sufficiently  comprehensive  to  include  all 
that  the  conception  contains,  the  author,  when  search- 
ing, at  the  beginning  of  his  studies  upon  art,  for  a  word 
expressive  of  that  which  is  the  general  result  of  art- 
production,  whether  considered  as  repeating  the  effects 
of  things  seen  or  heard  in  the  external  world,  or  as  giving 
utterance  to  thoughts  or  feelings,  came  upon  the  word 
rcprcsoit.  It  is  not  a  new  word  in  the  history  of  art; 
but  it  seems  never  to  have  been  used  in  a  manner  suf- 
ficiently comprehensive.  Painting,  for  instance,  has  been 
termed  representative  and  music  presentative.  In  this 
book,  it  will  be  shown  that  the  latter,  too,  is  representa- 
tive. When  examined  careful)}',  it  will  be  found  that 
this  word  rcprcsoit,  without  any  distortions  of  its  ordinary 
meanings,  can  express,  in  all  cases,  the  exact  results  of 
any  form  of  imaginative  art.  When  reproducing  the 
appear;uices  or  occurrences  of  nature,  imagination  repre- 
sents them  in  external  form.  l^ut  it  also  represents  the 
thoughts  and  emotions  which  the  mind  has  come  to  as- 
sociate with  the  form.  Xor,  as  will  be  shown  presently, 
is  there  any  artistic  quality  which  cannot  be  sufficiently 
tested  by  applying  to  any  of  the  characteristics  of  any 
art-work  — whether  they  i)ertain  to  form  or  to  significance 
— the  ([uestion.  What  does  it  represent? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ART  AS  REPRESEXTATIVK  RATHER  THAN  IMITATIVE  OF 
NATURAL  APPEARANCES. 


Re]Tresentation  Contrasted  witli  Imitation  —  Co-ordinated  with  Reqairc- 
nient-s  of  luiaijination — Of  Sympathy — -Representation  7V/si/s  Imita- 
tion in  APiisic — Representation  in  Music  of  Intonations  of  Speecli — Of 
Natural  Hummini^  and  of  Surrounding  Sounds — Representations  of 
Nature  in  tlie  Sounds  and  Figures  of  Poetr)' — In  its  (jeneral  Themes 
—  Representations  of  Nature  in  Painting  and  Scul])ture — \Vliile  Some- 
times Imitative,  'Idiese  Are  Always  Representative- — Shown  in  the 
Results  of  the  Study  <jf  Walues — Of  Fight  and  Shade — Of  Shape  and 
Texture  —  Of  F)istan(:e,  and  the  Classic  and  Impressionist  Fine — 
Of  Aerial  I'erspective — C)f  Pineal  Pers])ective — Of  Fife  and  Move- 
ment— Ex[:ilaining  ()ccasional  Pack  of  Accuracy — Same  Principles 
Applied  to  Sculpture — Reiiresentation  I'ather  than  Indtation  of  Prind- 
tive  Architecture  as  in  Huts.  Teiit-^,  etc. — .\rchitectural  Perspective  as 
Applied  by  the  (  ireeks  —  I'Aplaining  1  )ifferences  in  Measurements  of 
Sindlar  F'eatures  in  the  Same  ISuilding — l)iherencis  in  Measurements 
of  Corresponding  I'ealures  in  llifferent  lluildings  —  Representation 
not  Imitation  the  Arti'-t's  Aiivi  in  Reproducing  F'ornis  in  Architecture. 

'T^IIK  truth  of  the  statements  made  at  tlie  close  of  the 
]M-eceding  chapter  will  be  illustrated  in  this  by  show- 
ing- their  applicability  to  the  method  in  which  art  deals 
witli  the  sic^hts  or  sounds  of  nature.  Accordinj^-  to  Web- 
ster, /(I  rcfrcsoit  means  "to  present  ai^'ain  either  by  imai^e, 
1.)}'  action,  by  syinbol,  or  by  substitute,"  and  there  is  no 
possible  use  of  natural  forms  in  art  that  cannot  be  in- 
cluded under  one  of  these  heads.  Imitation,  wdiicli  is, 
undoubtedly,  a  freommt   i)rocess   in   art,  can  be  included 


8o  THE   LSSEXTIALS   OF  ^iSTlIETICS. 

thus;  but  SO  can  many  other  processes  that  are  not 
imitati\'e.  Representation  has  a  broader  appHcabiHty, 
and  by  usin^^  this  term  we  can  get  something  expressing 
the  exact  truth  in  all  cases.  An  orchestral  passage  in  an 
opera,  or  a  declamator_\'  scene  in  a  drama,  cannot,  strictl_\- 
speaking,  cop\-  or  imitate,  but  it  can  rcprtsoit  an  ex- 
change of  thought  between  a  demi  god  and  a  forest 
bird,  as  in  Wagner's  "Siegfried,"  or  a  convei sation  be- 
tween historic  characters  as  in  Shakespeare's  "Henry 
the  PLighth."  A  painting  of  a  man  on  canvas,  or  a 
statue  of  him  in  marble,  does  not,  strictly  speaking,  cop\- 
or  imitate  a  man,  who,  actually  considered,  can  be 
neither  flat  nor  white  :  but  it  does  ;'< />;'<: .svv// him.  Columns, 
arches,  and  roofs  do  not,  by  an\-  means,  copy  or  imitate, 
but  they  do  represent  the  trunks  and  branches  and  water- 
shedding  lea\'es  of  the  forest.  Nothing  in  fact  that  a 
man  can  m;d<:e  of  the  materials  at  his  disposal  can. 
strictly  speaking,  copy  or  imitate  in  all  its  features  that 
which  is  found  in  nature:  but  he  can  alwa_\-s  represent 
this. 

It  is  precisel}-  for  this  reason,  too,  because  art  does 
and  can  represent,  and  does  not  and  need  not  aKva\-s 
literally  imitate,  that  it  appeals  to  the  imagination,  as  well 
as  issues  from  it.  A  literal  imitation,  leaving  nothing 
for  the  imagination  to  do.  does  not  stimulate  its  action. 
Whistles  or  bells  iii  music:  commonplace  phrases  or 
actions  in  })oetry;  and  iiidisci  iminate  particularities  of 
detail  in  the  work  of  pencil,  brush,  or  chisel,  usually  pro- 
duce disenchanting  effects  entirely  aside  from  those  that 
we  feel  to  be  legitimate  to  att.  This  is  largelx"  because 
the  artist,  in  using  them,  has  forgotten  that  his  aim  is 
less  to  imitate  than  to  represent. 

The  fact  that  works   o,{  art    represent   explains,  t0(\  in 


REPRESENTATIVE    NOT  IMITATIVE.  8 1 

part,  at  least,  the  sympathetic  interest  which  they  awaken, 
— an  interest  often  noticed  and  as  often  deemed  essentiah 
To  what  can  this  with  better  reason  be  attributed  than  lo 
a  recognition  of  the  difficuhics  overcome — as  must  always 
be  the  case  where  a  form  of  presentation  is  changed  — 
when  producing  in  one  medium  an  effect  that  in  nature 
appears  in  another  medium;  and  to  a  consequent  ap- 
preciation of  the  particular  originality  and  skill  of  the 
individual  artist  who  has  overcome  these  difticulties? 

To  apply  these  statements  to  the  different  arts,  it  is 
mainly  owing  to  a  lack  of  all  apjjcid  to  the  imagination 
or  to  the  sympathies,  that  accurate  imitations  of  the 
sounds  that  come  from  birds,  Ijeasts,  winds,  and  waters 
fad  to  affect  us  as  do  chords  which  are  recognised  to  be 
prcjduced  by  wind  and  stringed  instruments  in  the  pass- 
ages de-criptive  of  the  intluence  of  a  forest,  in  Wagner's 
opera  of  "  Siegfiied, "  or  in  the  "Pastoral  Symphonies" 
of  Handel  and  Heetli'iven.  \or  can  any  number  of 
tones  imitating  exactl\-  the  expressions  of  love,  grief,  or 
fright  compare,  in  their  intluence  upon  us,  with  the 
representations  of  the  s-ime  in  the  combined  vocal 
and  instrumental  melodies  and  harmoides  of  love-songs, 
dirges,  and  tragic  o[)eras.  The  truth  of  this  may  be  more 
readily  conceded  in  an  art  like  music,  pialiaps,  than  in 
some  of  the  other  arts;  for  in  it  the  imitativa-  elements 
are  acknowledged  to  be  at  a  minimum.  i'o  such  an  ex- 
tent is  this  the  ca-^e,  in  fact,  th;it  ^oine  have  declared  it  to 
be /'/v.sv7//^?'//'rv  I'ather  than  repre^^entat  ive,  net  lecognising 
that  a  use  of  >neh  elements  of  duration,  f'Mce,  pitcli,  and 
qualitx'  a'-  enabh;  us  to  di>tingui~h  between  a  love-song, 
a  dirgt,',  and  a  tragic  jia.^sage  would  altogelhei'  fail  to 
coiu'ey  their  meaning,  nnle-s  there  were  ^r)uie'thing  in 
the  mo\-ement    to    rtf^iustiil    ideas   or   emotions  which  we 


82 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .KSTHETICS. 


were  accustomed   to   associate   with   similar   movements 
perceived  in  nature. 

Among  these  movements  of  sounds  presented  in  nature 
we  may  class,  for  instance,  the  intonations  of  natural 
speech,  by  which  arc  meant  the  tones,  but  not  the  ar- 
ticulations, used  in  uttering  series  of  words.  Notice  the 
following  song.  The  words  composing  it  can  be  talked 
in  accordance  with  the  notation  almost  as  easily  as  they 
can  be  sung: 


meet     a    bo-dv.  Coiu-hr     thro"  the 


— ^ — ./ — '  • — 0-^  ^       •  I  • 


a  bo-dv 


bo  dy.  Need  a        bo  -  dy     cry  ? 
Coiuiii'  thro   ihc  A'v,  :    Sco/f//  Melody . 


What  is  true  of  this  melody  is  true  of  almost  ever\- 
melody  that  proves  to  be  permanently  popular.  Be- 
neath what  is  sometimes  great  exaggeration,  we  can 
detect  the  intonations  natural  to  tlie  speaking  utterance 
of  the  sentiments  expressed.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say 
that,  in  such  cases,  music,  while  in  no  sense  imitative,  is 
nevertheless  representative  of  the  intonations  of  speech. 
In  other  cases,  it  might  be  said  to  be  a  development  of 
something  that  lies  behind  the  intonations  of  speech  ;  and 
which,  though  having  the  same  cause,  antedates  them. 
/.  r..  a  development  of  humming  in  which  almost  every 
one,  at  times,  indulges.  A  man,  in  the  subjective, 
absent-minded  condition  in  which  he  takes  to  humming, 
is  usually  unconscious  of  the  presence  either  of  surround- 
ing i)ers(jns  or  of  sounds.      He   is   not   in   a  mood,  there- 


REPRESENrAllCN  IN  MUSIC.  83 

fore,  cither  to  address  the  persons  distinctly,  or  to  repeat 
the  sounds  accurately.  Jkit  while  this  is  true,  it  is  also 
true  that  his  method  of  expression  will  necessarily,  not 
in  a  specific  but  in  a  general  way,  represent  his  surround- 
ings. If  he  have  ever  heard,  especially  if  he  have  heard 
frequently,  sounds  like  the  humming  of  bees,  the  whist- 
ling of  winds  or  of  railway  locomotives,  or  the  notes  of 
squirrels,  quails,  whippoorwills,  robins,  catbirds,  or  of 
songs  sung,  or  of  e.Kclamations  or  speeches  made  by 
men  and  women  about  him,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  his 
own  tones,  at  times  unconsciously  to  himself,  but  never- 
theless actually,  will  imitate  some  of  these  sounds,  all  of 
which,  being  external  to  himself,  are,  so  far  as  he  is  con- 
cerned, those  of  external  nature.  Music,  therefore,  may 
l)e  said  to  represent  not  only  the  natural  intonations  of 
the  human  voice,  but  natural  sounds  coming  from  sources 
that  are  not  human. 

Hut  how,  it  may  be  asked,  is  it  with  poetry?  Can  the 
same  princii)le  be  applied  to  this  art?  W'hy  not?  Iwen 
where  sounds  are  intentionally  suggested,  as  in  the 
(juotations  on  |)age  210.  these  are  less  imitatiw,  in  a  strict 
sense,  than  rei)resentative.  The  same  is  true  of  figura- 
tive language  which  calls  iq)  to  imagination  certain 
scenes  to  which  reference  is  made.  I  low  accurate  is  the 
lecturing  in  the  italicise^]  words  in  the  following;  yet 
wlu)  can  fail  to  perceive  that  each  ])icture  is  prcKluced  by 
way  of  rep.esentation,  and  not.  in  any  sense,  of  imitation? 

Anil   iniillltildcs  of   dcilM-,   wliiti;,   tlrrcv  cIiUkIs 

Well'  -.uniil,  r'nv:^  in  illicit  llorh^  aloiii;  tlic  mountains, 

Sh,  plh'yiii  d  liy  llic  slow,  uiiwillinL',  \\in<l. 

/'/  i<i/ii/Iu  N^    <  iil'oiDul,  ii.,   r  :    SIi,-/!,v. 
I  '\c  k-arncfl  lo  pii/c  tlu-  i/iiid  /ii'/i/iiiii^-  ili-cd  ; 
NmI   llir  al'l-l,ui(li)r.i  thiiihl^  J-  al   iK  lici-ls. 
WliiJi  mm  rail  lame  ./   / //,    Ih.uiia,    \'\:    .  I /.w.   Smith 


84  '^'^^^   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTlIETlCS. 

So  with  the  gcacial  line  of  thought  in  a  poem.  An 
imitation  so  exact  apparentlx'  that  we  shoLild  think  it 
written  down  within  hearing,  of  the  ravings  of  a  mad 
king,  or  of  huiientations  at  tire  loss  of  a  friend,  would  not 
appeal  to  us  like  what  we  know  to  be  merely  rcprcscnta- 
tio/is  of  these  in  the  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare's  "King- 
Lear,"  or  in  the  rhyming  verse  of  Tennyson's  "In 
Memoriam."  The  talk  of  the  phonograph  will  never  be 
an  acceptable  substitute  for  the  soliloquy  or  dialogue  of 
the  artistic  diama  or  novel. 

A  like  fact  is  true  of  the  photograph.  For  the  very 
reason  that  it  is  an  imitation,  in  the  sense  of  being  a 
literal  presentation,  of  every  outline  on  which  the  light 
at  the  time  when  it  was  taken  lia})pened  to  fcdl,  it  does 
not  awaken  in  us  the  kind  or  degree  of  imaginative  inter- 
est or  of  s\"mpath\-  that  we  feel  in  paintings  or  statues. 
In  contrast  to  the  impression  received  from  a  photo- 
graph, in  gazing  at  these,  we  feel  that  we  are  looking 
through  an  artist's  eye,  seeing  only  wdiat  he  saw  or 
thought  tit  for  us  to  see.  and  that  ever_\-thing  in  them  is 
traceable  to  the  skill  dis^ilax-ed  b_\-  him  when  transferring 
what  in  nature  is  presented  in  one  medium  into  another 
medium,  as  when  delineating  tledi  and  foliage  through 
the  use  of  colour  and  when  turning  x'cins  and  lace  into 
marble. 

At  the  same  time,  so  much  in  painting  and  sculj)ture 
suggests  mere  imitation,  that  some  ha\-e  held  the  theory 
that  all  its  processes  can  be  resoh-ed  into  this.  But  is 
such  a  theory  justifiable?  Is  not  rejjresentation  a  better 
term  to  appl\-  to  some  e\'cn  of  tjiose  processes  tliat  are 
the  niost  ncail\-  imitative?  Idiink,  for  instance,  what  is 
done  in  the  u>e  of  colour.  Vox  centuries  those  wlio  tried 
merely  to   imitate  this  as  it  appeared  in  nature  were  not 


RErRESENTATIO.V  IN   COLOR.  85 

successful.  The  blue  of  the  sky  ;i!icl  the  l)loom  of  the 
cheek  were  painted  in  hues  altoi^ether  too  deep  and  full. 
Sparkling  effects  Hke  those  glanced  from  waters  were 
scarcely  attempted.  Xor  did  the  earlier  painters  seem  to 
recognise  the  varieties  in  these  colours — -the  infinite  num- 
ber of  tints  and  shades  found  in  them  when  exposed  to 
more  or  less  sunlight.  Tliey  could  never  depict  aright 
the  folds  of  drapery,  the  leaves  of  trees,  or  even  the 
plain  ceiling  of  a  room  where  it  was  necessary  to  re- 
produce effects  of  illumination  or  reflection.  Much  less 
could  they  represent  the  larger  pki)-  of  light  and  shade, 
air  luminous  with  sunshine  or  mellow  in  the  moonlight. 
What  hues  could  picture  the  effects  of  firelight  or  of 
shadows  cast  b\-  certain  colours  or  received  on  certain 
colours?  CJnly  many  experiments  could  settle  these 
(piestions.  At  last,  it  was  science  alf)nc  that  seemed  able 
to  settle  them  beyond  dis[)ute.  Then  it  was  found  that, 
in  many  cases,  one  cannot  reproduce  the  effects  of  the 
actual  colours  in  natuie  by  mcrel\-  imitating  them;  he 
must  use  other  and  diffcrenl  colours.  ]'"or  instance,  a 
figure  by  Delacroix  in  a  fre~co  in  the  cupola  of  the 
Library  of  the  Luxembourg  at  Paris,  on  account  of  the 
influence  of  surrounding  colours,  is  made  to  look  tlesh- 
like  by  being  painted  largel\-  in  tints  of  green.  See  Cha])- 
ter  X\"III.   of  the  present  volume,  especially   pages  371 

to  374- 

To  appreciate  how  niucli  mf)re  than  mere  imitation  is 
involved,  even  in  that  part  of  the  work-  of  the  painter 
wliich  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  iu:arly  imitati\-e, 
let  us  glance  at  a  few  of  the  results  of  experiment  and 
stud\'  in  such  work.  'i'o  begin  wi'Ji,  these  Iiave  led  to  a 
recognit  i(')n  in  the  use  of  colour  of  what  are  teTmcd  'raliii's. 
This   term    undoubtedK'  grew    out    of   the   application    to 


86  THE    ESSEXTIALS   OF  .KSTIIETICS. 

colours  of  other  terms  like  rich,  full,  tlccp,  thin,  weak. 
It  would  be  natural  to  say  that  anything;  which  coultl  be 
more  rich  or  full  than  another  could  differ  from  it  in 
value.  \\\  such  terms,  however,  when  once  used,  come 
soon  to  have  technical  meanings.  The  meaning  now  at- 
tached to  the  term  is  indicative  of  the  degree  of  light  that 
is  in  a  colour.  In  the  foreground  of  a  picture,  where 
there  is  supposed  to  be  the  most  light,  rendering  all  things 
distinct,  the  colour  is  said  to  have  more  value  than  the 
same  when  in  the  background.  The  term  is  also  applied 
to  colourless  drawings,  but,  in  this  case,  a  line  that  is  in 
the  foreground,  where  there  is  the  most  light,  rendering 
it  distinct,  is,  unlike  a  colour,  darker  rather  than  brighter. 
So  we  have  the  apparent  anomaly  of  assigning  the  most 
value  to  bright  colours,  and  yet  to  dark  lines  (see  Fig.  2, 
page  31.  A  score  or  more  of  years  ago  the  term  was 
used  to  indicate  differences  between  different  hues:  yel- 
low, for  instance,  as  containing  more  light,  being  said  to 
have  more  value  th.in  green  containing  less  light.  At 
present,  however,  the  word  seems  mainlv  used  to  indicate 
relations  between  different  tints  or  shades  of  the  same 
hue,  //;//  being  a  term  indicative  of  what  contains  more 
light,  and  shade  a  term  indicative  of  what  contains  less 
light,  than  the  hue  itself  does  when  it  is  what  is  termed 
full.  As  illustrating  the  very  different  effects  produced 
upon  the  same  colour  by  very  slight  changes  in  degrees  of 
light  and  shade,  excellent  examples  are  afforded  in  every 
kirge  picture  gallery.  For  instance,  in  the  picture  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  Xew  York',  entitled  "Gossip," 
by  Carl  Marr,  dresses,  a  table-cloth,  a  window  curtain, 
and  man\-  other  articles  placed  side  b_\'  side  arc  all  white. 
In  another  picture,  entitled  ".V  Spanish  Lady,"  by  For- 
tunv.  the  dress,  laces,  ribbons,  and  ornaments  of   jet  arc 


LIGHT  AND    SHADE.  8/ 

all  black;  and  in  still  another  entitled  "Monks  in  the 
Oratory,"  by  F.  AI.  Granct,  the  robes,  seats,  wainscot- 
ing, and  other  objects  are  all  brown. 

Another  important  result  of  the  study  of  both  painter 
and  scientist  is  noticeable  in  the  methods  of  representing, 
by  means  of  colour,  the  effects  of  light  and  shade.  The 
very  earliest  paintings  of  which  we  know — the  Egyptian 
^contained  no  shadows  whatcv-er.  The  early  Italians 
thought  that  they  could  depict  the  effects  of  light  upon 
a  fabric  of  any  colour  by  wlrite,  and  of  shade  upon  the 
same  colour  by  black.  Of  course,  their  method  did  not 
involve  any  study  of  what  is  now  termed  values.  At 
present,  it  is  customary  to  begin  by  recognising  that  the 
light  and  sh  ide  upon  any  scene  in  nature  m;iy  be  general 
and  particular.  That  which  is  general  is  produced  upon 
a  scene  or  an  object,  as  a  whole,  by  some  illumining 
agent,  like  the  sun,  the  moon,  a  fire,  or  a  candle.  That 
which  is  s[jecial  is  produced  by  the  different  positions 
relatively  to  one  another  of  different  parts  of  the  whole. 
.V  tree  or  a  man,  for  instance,  if  depicted  in  sunshine, 
would  each  cast  a  shadow,  and  each  with  its  shadow 
would  illustrate  the  effects  of  general  light  and  shade. 
lUit  besides  this,  every  leaf  or  limb  of  the  tree  is  illumined 
with  a  light  peculiar  to  itself,  and  casts  its  shadow  on 
some  other  leaf  or  liinb;  and  every  feature  in  the  counte- 
nance and  every  fold  in  the  clothing  of  a  man  is  either  in 
extreme  brightness,  like  the  tip  of  his  chin  or  nose,  or  in 
shadow,  like  a  dimi)Ie  of  his  chin  or  one  side  of  his  nose. 
In  some  (jf  these  cases,  as,  for  instance,  whce  sparkling 
effects  are  lux'essary,  light  can  be  propeily  indicated  by 
white,  and  shade,  as  where  surrounding  colours  are  very 
dull,  1)\'  black;  in  othe-rs,  as  where  the  light  falls  strongl)' 
on  brilliant  colouis,  the  '-liadnws   must  contain  hues  that 


88  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTIlEriCS. 

cuniplcmeiit  these  (see  page  372)  ;  but  in  many  cases, 
especially  where  the  light  is  not  intense,  it  is  mainly 
necessary  to  change  the  values  of  tlie  same  hues,  making 
them  brighter  in  more  light  and  darker  in  less.  To  pre- 
serve the  proper  relations  and  proportions  of  colouring 
in  each  case  is,  of  course,  extremely  difficult,  and  ne- 
cessitates very  careful  observation  of  the  conditions  of 
nature.  The  main  principle  is  that  the  brighter  the 
illumining  light,  the  greater  are  the  contrasts  both  ol 
shade  and  hue  between  tlie  bright  aiid  dark  parts  and  the 
more  sharply  defined  are  the  lines  of  demarkation  between 
them  isee  Fig.  2,  page  3).  Besides  this,  in  any  given 
scene,  the  influence  of  the  light  is  such  that,  to  be 
properly  represented,  the  values  need  to  be  slighth'  and 
gradually  changed  at  almost  every  point.  The  difference 
in  a  painting  between  the  appearance  of  mere  paint  and 
the  appearance  of  reality  is  largely  due  to  these  slight 
variations  in  values,  producing  everywhere,  but  especially 
in  connection  with  thick  foliage  or  folds  of  drapery,  those 
subtle  suggestions  of  the  play  of  light  and  shade  in  which 
nature  always  abounds. 

The  representation  of  shape  and  texture  is  closely  re- 
lated to  that  of  light  and  shade.  It  is  the  narrow  or 
broad  lines  or  circles  of  intensely  bright  and  sometimes 
white  colour,  together  with  darker  colours  on  either 
side  or  surrounding  them,  that  enable  us  to  perceive 
that  an  object  in  which  they  appear  is  intended  to  seem 
to  have  an  edged  or  a  rounded  or  circular  shape,  v.'hile 
snnilar  characteristics,  differently  and  more  minutely  dis- 
tributed, enable  us  to  recognise  that  the  texture  is  in- 
tended to  seem  like  that  of  silk,  velvet,  wool,  wood, 
stone,  soil,  water,  or  clouds.  We  can  recognise  these 
facts,  even  from  the  corresponding  effects  as  produced  by 


CLASSIC  AND   ROMANTIC  LINES.  89 

the  use  of  the  pencil  \\\  Fig.  3,  p;is^e  19.  The  necessity 
of  representinL,^  shape  in  painting'  was  recognised  very 
early  in  the  development  of  the  art,  but  there  were  no 
great  painters  (A  texture  before  those  of  the  Netherlands, 
like  Dou,  llals,  Denner,  Terborch,  and  Jan  Steen.  In 
recent  times  there  aie  many  who  excel  in  producing  these 
effects,  noticeably  Mcissonier,  W'illems,  Breton,  Fortuny, 
^•\lma   fadema,   Rousseau,  and    Troyon. 

The  use  of  values  in  the  representation  of  distance  has 
necessitated  almost  as  much  study  as  in  the  representation 
of  texture.  To  begin  with,  remote  objects  are  alwax's 
in  light  that  is  comparative!}-  dim;  and,  for  this  reason, 
their  outlines  are  indi.-^iinct  1  see  J-'ig.  2,  page  31.  But  it 
took  the  world  many  years  to  recognise  this.  Some 
artists  apparently  liave  not  recognised  it  yet.  There  is 
still  a  coiitrox'ersy,  the  results  of  which  can  be  seen  in 
every  large  gallery  of  modern  paintings,  between  the  ad- 
vocates of  what  is  termed  the  "classic  "  or  "academic  " 
line,  and  the  "romantic,"  "  picture,-<[ue, "  or  "natural- 
istic." The  former  is  a  firm,  clear  line  such  as  ajipears 
in  the  i:)aintings  of  (icrome  1  h'ig.  4,  page  41 ),  Hougereau, 
and  Cabaiiel.  The  other  is  a  mist_\',  indistinct  line,  such 
as  a[)[)ears  in  some  of  the  works  of  Corot,  Sargent,  and 
Israels.  \  jtice  the  left  leg  of  the  mm  in  I'ig.  5,  page 
6[.  riie  former  line  is  neccssarilv  the  primitive  one, 
the  first  impulse  of  anv  draughtsm  m  being  to  sei)arate 
an  object  distinctly  from  other  objects.  As  we  sh')uld 
expect,  tlijrefoic,  tliis  ki,i  1  of  line  ch  iracte-ri^es  m  )st  (jf 
the  [)ictures  chat  hive  c  )me  to  us  from  the  ancients,  as 
well  as  the  rude  sketches  of  the  sclioobboys  of  our  own 
time.  l)at  in  the  drawing-;  (jf  certain  great  m  isters,  say 
Titian,  Correggio,  and  Rembrandt,  th  n'e  is  a  tendencv 
in  the  other  direction.      (  )ni\-  in  modern  times,  however. 


90  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  .EISTHETICS. 

have  the  two  tendencies  developed  into  putagonistic 
schools, — the  extreme  advocates  of  the  one,  though  they 
are  not  all  called  Pre-Raphaclites,  showing  an  inchnation 
to  claim,  as  the  modern  painters  who  founded  this  school 
were  accused  of  doing  (see  Fig.  6,  page  71  ),  that  in  a 
painting  ever\-  leaf  on  a  tree,  every  spear  in  a  grass-plot, 
ever\-  hair  on  a  heaLJ,  should  be  distinctly  and  separately 
outlined;  and  the  ad\'ocates  of  the  other  school  showing 
an  inclination  to  claim  that  in  no  case  should  anv  of  these 
be  so  outlined,  partly  because  they  are  not  so  perceived 
in  nature  and  partly  because,  even  if  so  perceived,  they 
should  not  be  strictlv  imitated  in  art,  the  object  of  which 
is  to  represent,  and  to  represent  not  specific,  but  general 
effects  (see  I-'ig.  7,  page  oi  ;  also  5,  page  61).  It  seems 
as  if,  in  this  case,  as  usual,  the  extremists  on  both  sides 
somewhat  ex.iggerate  the  partial  truth  that  thicy  are  try- 
ing to  empha,--.i>e.  Objects  in  very  bright  light  and  near 
at  hand  can  be,  ami,  if  one  be  representing  nature  faith- 
fully, should  be  delineated  with  well  deiined  outlines. 
On  the  contrary,  objects  that  are  in  dim  light,  as  in  the 
twilight  landscapes  of  Corot,  or  objects  that  are  remote 
from  the  observer,  can  be  and  should  be  delineated  with 
indistinct  outlines.  Notice  these  conditions  as  mdicated 
in  Fig.  2,  page  3.  Among  painters,  Juie-,  l-Jreton  is 
worthy  of  notice  as  particidarU'  successful  111  regarding 
this  principle.  In  many  uf  his  pictures  the  figures  in  the 
foreground  are  as  clearly  defined  as  111  a  painting  by 
Meissoiiier,  while  those  in  the  rear,  in  strict  ;iccordance 
with  the  conditions  in  nature,  are  outlined  with  great 
vagueness.  One  caniiut  a\-oid  tecling  that  an  artist 
who  has  thus  reproduced  the  exact  effects  of  nature 
must  cventuall}-  rank  higher  than  those  who  ha\-e 
all  )wed    a    mere    theory   to    cause    them    to    use  either  the 


92  THE   ESSEXTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

"classic  "   or  "romantic"    line  indiscriminatcl}-  and  uni 
vcrsally. 

There  are  other  cfTccts  of  colour  that  have  only  been 
discovered  as  a  result  of  study.  Take  those  of  what  is 
termed  aerial  pcrspcctii'c.  The  atmosphere  is  filled  with 
particles  that  cause  it  to  act  like  a  veil  obscuring  the 
colours  in  the  distance  by  depiivini^  them  of  a  part  of 
their  light.  It  therefore  causes  them,  as  distances  in- 
crease, to  become  dimmer,  and,  in  the  lemote  distance, 
to  become  changed  in  hue.  In  an  atmosphere  per\'aded 
throughout  by  the  same  general  degree  of  light,  yellow, 
which  contains  the  uKjst  light  of  any  of  the  colours, 
passes,  in  the  distcUice,  into  darker  yellow  and  orange- 
yellow;  orange  into  red-orange;  red  into  darker  red; 
yellow-green,  as  often  in  the  near  foli.ige  at  sunset,  into 
green,  then  into  dark  green,  and  in  great  distance,  into 
blue  and  bluish  purple,  or,  in  the  absence  of  sunshine, 
into  grey.  The  local  shadows  cast  by  a  hill,  tree,  or 
leaves  in  the  greater  brightness  near  at  liand  are  darker 
than  the  shadows  at  a  di.-,tance  (see  l-'ig.  2.  page  3), 
The  general  shadows  cast  by  the  clouds  do  not  necessari]\- 
have  this  effect.  Often,  in  fact,  by  obscuring  the  sun- 
light near  at  hand  and  leaving  it  clear  in  the  distance,  ii; 
other  words  by  changing  the  degrees  of  light  in  different 
parts  of  a  landscape,  they  change  the  distribution  of 
colours  that  have  been  mentioned.  In  an  ocean  view, 
for  instance,  light  green  is  sometimes  seen  in,  :he  tlistance 
and  deep  blue  near  at  hand.  liut  as  a  rule  the  colours  in 
aerial  persi^ective  will  appear  as  has  been  stated.  In 
regiments  of  soldiers  marching  toward  us,  all  clad  in 
scarlet,  that  colour  seems  brightest  m  the  front  rank,  and 
graduall}-  decreases  in  brightness  till  in  the  remote  dis- 
tance it  mav  seem  more  like  a  reddish  brown.      This  fact 


LINEAR   PERSPECTIVE.  93 

will  be  found  represented  in  several  of  the  military  pic- 
tures of  Detaille.  Even  in  the  same  room  books  of  the 
same  colour  seem  to  differ,  if  one  be  a  foot  farther  from 
us  than  another,  provided  always,  of  course,  that  they 
are  illumined  by  the  same  degree  of  light.  i\\\  these 
statements  can  be  seen  illustrated,  by  inspecting  the 
works  of  artists  like  Rousseau,  Daubigny,  Millet,  or 
Tro>-on,  of  the  h^jntLune'ijleau-l^arbizon  school,  the  ori- 
ental pictures  of  iJecamps  or  Fromcntin,  or  the  land- 
scapes or  interiors  of  more  modern  painters  like  Inness  or 
Chase  of  our  own  country,  Israels  of  Holland,  or  Lerolle 
of  I'rance.  Those  who  have  an  opportunity  to  do  so  will 
be  interested  in  noticing  the  effects  of  distance  and  space 
as  produced  by  the  latter,  in  the  "Organ  Recital,"  which 
is  in  the  Metropolitan  Art  Museum  in  New  York. 

Distance  has  also  another  influence.  This  appears  in 
what  is  termed  linear  perspective.  If  we  look  down  a  long 
street,  the  roadwa\-  or  sidewalks  of  which  are  of  uniform 
width,  and  the  buihjings  along  wdiich  are  of  uniform 
height,  we  find  all  the  lines  of  sidewalks,  curbstones,  and 
r(x:)fs  gradually  converging  in  the  extreme  distance.  In 
case  two  parallel  lines  are  as  near  together  as  the  two 
tracks  of  a  railwax',  the}-  ma\'  seem  actually  to  meet  in 
the  distance.  \otice  the  ui)[;er  illustration  at  the  left  of 
1' ig.  J,  page  ^.  As  the  ap[)earance  indicated  is  uni- 
versal in  nature,  of  course  art,  in  1  e[)resenting  nature, 
nni-.t  icprcsent  it  also.  ^'et  for  centuries  the  proper 
mt;th;)d  i)f  doni;,';  this  was  not  underst(jod.  Now  it  is 
kni)\\n  that  if,  from  an  imaginaiy  vanishing  point  on 
wliieh  the  v.yr,  in  gazing  toward  the  back  of  a  picture,  is 
su[)pose(l  to  bi:  lixed,  radiating  lines  be  drawn  to  the  top 
and  button)  and  -id(.'s  of  a  f(nni  rLpresentC'l  in  the  foie- 
!jround,  these   liue-i  between  the  lorm    and  the   x'anishinLr 


94 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  .ESTHETICS. 


point  will  determine  the  top  and  bottom  and  sides  of 
other  tl;4urcs,  which,  in  tlie  degree  in  vhicli  every  dimen- 
sion in  tliem  is  made  smaller  than  the  form  in  the  fore- 
i,n-ound,  will  appear  to  be,  not  less  in  actual  size,  but  at 
a  ;greater  distance  from  the  si)ectator.  Notice  the  left 
upper  illustration  in  Fig.  2,  page  3.  These  laws  of  per- 
spective are  now  so  well  known  that  their  more  simple 
effects  are  ea.-^y  to  pioducc.  But  some  of  them  are  ex- 
ceedingly difficult.  Take  cases  of  foreshortening,  for  in- 
stance, like  the  representations  painted  b_\'  Michael  Angelo 
on  the  ceiling  of  the  .Sistine  Chapel  of  figures  in  all  pos- 
sible positions,  standing,  sitting.  l\'iug,  aiul  ascending  in 
cli3uds. — could  any  one,  unless  \-er\-  ^-kilfLd  as  a  draughts- 
man, produce  with  success  such  effects?  Could  he 
produce  them  at  all,  when  working  n"ierel\-  hx  wax  of 
imitation?  Did  anybody  ever  actuall}-  perceu'e  figures 
in  such  positions? 

There  is  another  important  effect  in  painting  that  is, 
perhaps,  still  less  allied  to  mere  imitation  than  any  that 
we  Iku'c  yet  consitlei'cd.  It  is  the  effect  of  lift  or  iiiove- 
iiiciit .  The  s[)okes  nf  a  wdieel  in  a  waggon,  wlien  standing 
still,  liave  (me  appearance.  What  is  their  appearance 
when  the  \\'aggon  is  under  w.iy?  Wdiat  is  the  a])pearance 
of  a  torch  when  wax'cd  through  the  air,  or  of  the  legs  of 
a  man  or  a  horse  when  racing'  What  is  the  a[)pearance 
of  the  lea\'es  of  trees  or  the  waves  of  lakes  when  swayed 
b_\-  a  tempest?  .Such  etlects  are  seldom  seen  with  a  dis 
tmct  outline  (see  I'^ig.  7,  page  91  1.  To  ha\'e  this,  an 
object  should  reiiiain  a  certain  Icngdi  of  time  m  one 
place  How  can  thev  be  imitated"'  Ihey  cannot  be. 
The_\-  can  Ije  merel\-  representeLl.  A  lolhng  wheel  is 
pictured,  not  as  a  cor.ipound  of  spokes,  but  as  .1  >parkling 
disk,    ,1   wa\'ing   toicli   not   as   a   point   of   liglit,    but   as   a 


IJFi'.    AXn   MOV  KM  EXT.  95 

curve,  and  a  movini;-  form  not  as  a  stationary  one,  but 
disproportionately  extended.  Notice  tiie  left  leg-  of  the 
man  in  Fii^.  5,  pay;e  61.  It  is  evidently  lengthened  as  it 
is,  in  order  to  represent  two  different  positions  which  the 
eye  is  supposed  to  take  in  at  one  glance.  "  Let  us  look 
at  these  Arab  horsemen  of  I'romentin,"  says  \'an  Dyke 
in  his  "  How  to  Judge  a  Picture."  "The  horse  of  this 
falcon  flier  going  at  full  speed  has  been  criticised,  because, 
forsooth,  the  body  is  too  long  and  the  hindquarters  are 
stretched  out  behind  instead  of  being  com[)actl\'  knit 
together.  .  .  .  l^ut  stand  back  and  see  the  effect  of 
the  whole.  Is  not  the  m  )tio  1,  the  life,  the  fire,  the  dash 
superb?  Could  anything  give  us  a  better  impression  of 
the  swiftness  of  flight?  " 

The  desire  to  convey  this  iiripression  of  mox'cment  with 
its  associated  ideas  of  life  and  force  kirgeh'  accounts  for 
the  apparent  lack  of  imitative  accuracy  as  well  as  for  the 
presence  of  unmistakable  exaggeration  in  the  work's  of 
such  artists  as  Michael  Angelo  (see  h'ig.  S,  p.  96);  and 
also  for  tl'iese  and  for  what  seem-;  to  be  ;i  lacl<  of  distinct- 
ness in  the  paintings  of  l>lake,  Millet,  Di.iz,  C'orot,  and 
Daubigny.  As  Win  l)\'k'e  sa\--^,  in  hi-  "How  to  Judge 
a  Picture".  "It  is  the  attempt  of  e\-ery  true  arli<t  to 
paint  not  realit\-,  but  the  a|)pearaiice  of  r^'alil)-";  in 
other  words,  to  repre-ent,   and  not  mi  I'dy  to  imitate. 

All  that  has  been  said  of  drawing  in  pain!  ing-  a[)[)lies 
to  carving  in  sculpture.  'I'he  method  of  fmidwng  sur- 
iaces  in  marlile  or  bron/.(\  wlictlua-  rijjjresent ed  in  fidl  or 
11  part  re'Iief,  is  not  deteiinini'd  i>y  the  riMiniienie'iUs  of 
actual  imitation,  but  by  the  api)earance  that  the  result 
]n'esents,  as  affected  h\  tin;  play  of  light  and  shadt:  upon 
the  surfaces,  and  the  suggc-,!  ions  of  <hapi',  te'xturc,  pci'- 
spective,    life,    or   movcmcni    niTcssariK"   connected    with 


LIFE   AND   MOVEMENT. 


97 


one  rather  than  with  another  mode  of  treatment.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  find  an)-  human  forms  with  muscles 
actually  resembling  those  in  the  figures  in  Michael 
Angelo's  "Tombs  of  the  Medici,"  at  Florence  (^hig.  8, 
page  96).  Yet  the  inlluence  of  light  and  shade  upon  the 
carving,  when  viewed  from  a  distance,  makes  all  seem 
wonderfully  real.  The  perspectives  represented  in  Fig. 
9,   page  97,   or  in   h'ig.    10,   page  98,   suggest  shade  and 


FIG.     9.      THE    SOLDIERS     RETURN.        FROM     THE     NATIONAL     MONUMENT     NEAR 
BINGEN,  GERMANY. 

Sec  [laf^e^  97,  225,  242,  27.,,  2S4. 

distance  as  faithfully  as  if  depicted  o;i  caiu'as;  aiul  the 
slightly  elongated  or  contracted  proportions  in  Harye's 
bronzes  oi  men  ,and  .ininials  gi\'e  effects  of  life  and  move- 
ment eipial  to  any  attempted  in  painting.  Xotice  again 
[•'ig.  5,  page  6r . 

Now  let  us  turn  to  architecture'.  To  recognise  the 
imitative  element  in  it  look"  at  I'ig.  1  1,  page  ()(j.  Here  i-. 
stonework  that  looks  exactly  as  if  composed  of  wooden 
pillars  supporting  wooden    rafters.      Among   the   remains 


98 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ALSTHETICS. 


of  ancient  architecture  there  are  scores  of  examples  of 
both  interiors  and  exteriors  corresponding  in  effect  to 
this.  Arguing,  primarily,  from  them,  it  is  now  recog- 
nised with  practical    unanimity  that   the  stone  columns 


FIG.   10.  -  EPITOMISED    STORY  OF    ABRAHAM.    ISAAC.  AND    JACOB-      RELIEF     FRO^: 
BAPTISTRY,   FLORENCE.      LORENZO  GHiBERTI. 

Sec  ]>;iL,'cs  (j7.  225. 

and  colonnades  of  the  Greek  temple  (Fig.  2<S,  page  219) 
were  suggested  by  those  of  previous  wooden  structures, 
and  that  these  \\'erc  suggested  by  the  series  of  poles, 
which  themselves  were  suggested  by  the  standnig  tree- 
trunks  which   supported  the  cover'ngs  of  the  primitive 


IMITATION  IN  AKCUriECrURE. 


99 


hut  (Fig.  12,  page  lOO);  also  that  the  bending  arches  of 
the  Gothic  cathedral  (see  Fig.  5  i,  jjage  266)  were  suggested 
by  the  manner  in  which  the  limbs  spring  from  certain 
trees  and  bend  over  pathways  on  either  side  of  which 
they  stand  ;  and,  once  more,  that  the  sagging  roofs,  well- 
nigh  universal  in  the  oriental  temples  (^see  Fig.  52,  page 


FIG.    11— CAVE   OF   ELEPHANTA,   INDIA. 
Sec  i>aL;i-  (/7. 

2<So),  were  sug<rested  by  the  sagL;inLi'  canwis  which  covered 
both  the  sm;dl  tents  and  the  great  tabernacles  of  the  an- 
cient nomadic  tribes.  Manv  claim,  too.  that  there  is  not 
an  artistic  dome  or  spire  which  liad  not  its  ante-type  in 
what  may  Ije  termed  a  natural  construction,  because  pro- 
duced by  the  ])rimitive  man  when  giving  ex[)ression  to 
motivfs  little  more  human  than  those  which  lead  to  the 
products  <_)f  the  bee  or  llu:  beaver.      See  Chapter  XX.  of 


100 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 


the  author's  "  Paintini^s  Sculpture,  and  .Vrchitccture  as 
Representative  Arts."  It  is  not  necessary  to  ar^ue  that, 
in  most  of  these  cases,  the  artistic  product  is  not  strictly 
an  imitation,  but  rather  a  representation  of  that  which 
forms  its  model. 

Xor  is  it  necessary  to  do  more  than  state  that  most  of 
the  representative  effects  already  considered  in  painting 


FI3.  12  -CHIEFS'  HOUSES,  KEREPUNA,  AUSTRALIA. 

See  paye  (jg. 

have  their  correspondences  in  architecture.  Effects  of 
li;4]it  or  shade,  .shape  or  texture,  and  even  aerial  effects 
produced  by  colour  in  the  one  art,  are  paralleled  b_\'  those 
produce' 1  in  the  other  art  by  light  or  heavy  porches,  pil- 
lars, buttresses,  or  mouldings,  as  manifested  in  different 
matciiaN,  hues,  or  st}des.  .\  few  words,  however,  ma_\- 
not  be  out  of  ])]ace   with   reference   to   effects  of  distance 


ARCHITECTURAL   PERSPECTIVE. 


lOI 


and  perspective  as  produced  in  architecture,  especially 
as  these  effects  are  extremely  important  and  are  usually 
overlooked,  l^y  the  ancient  Greeks  the)'  were  not  over- 
looked; nor,  as  has  been  discovered  recently,  by  the 
medicTeval  Gothic  architects.  Accordini:^  to  Prof.  W.  H. 
Goodyear,  eighty-five  Gothic  churches  in  Italy  have  floors 
rising  from  two  to  three  feet  between  the  front  door  and 
the  chancel,  while  often  the  tops  of  arches  above  the 
nave  descend    correspondingly, —  evidently    to    increase 


FiQ-  13.— PHOTOGRAPHIC  EFFfTCT  OF    CURVED  STYLO- 
BATE  AND  COLUMN  OF    THE   PARTriENON. 

See  i^ai^e  102. 

the  effects  of  distance,  according  to  the  laws  of  perspec- 
tive. These  facts  largely  explain  not  only  the  sujierior- 
ity  of  the  ancient  and  the  medi;eval  architecture,  but  also 
the  inability  of  artists  of  our  own  times  to  inter[)ret  all 
their  methods.  Many  curves  liavc  Ijccn  discovered  in  the 
older  buildings  where  we  should  use  straight  lines,  and 
many  diversities  of  mca^^urement  where  we  should  use 
uniformity.  In  the  autliot's  "  I'roporticMi  and  Harmony," 
and  in  Chapter   XV'I.  of  this  book,  such   conditions  are 


I02 


THE   ESSEX'J'IALS   OF  .KSTIIETICS, 


s'nown  to  l)c  the  results  of  appK-ini;'  to  iU'chitecturc  the 
laws  of  pcrspccti\'c  rather  than  of  proportion,  as  was 
once  supi^osed.  Notice  an  illustration  of  this  fact,  first, 
in  the  slij^ht  upward  curve  in  the  platform  on  which  the 
columns  of  the  Greek  teniple  rested  ll'i^-  13.  P^i^e  10 11, 
as  well  as  in  the  horizontal  line  of  the  entablature  below 
the  pediment.  I'i<jj.  14,  pa^e  102,  will  show  one — but  not 
all — of  the  reasons  assigned  for  this  curve.      The  eve  is  a 


f;g.  14. --optical  illusions  caused  by  lines 
arranged  as  in  pediments. 
See  ]'iaL;e^  102,  103. 

sphere,  and,  in  the  imaL^e  of  the  external  world  reflected 
on  it,  any  straii^iit  lines  above  or  below  the  mathematical 
centre  at  which  the  eye  gazes  will  appear  to  curve  upward 
or  downward.  When  the  eyes  are  directed  toward  the 
upper  triangle  of  h'ig.  14,  they  are  directed  toward  its 
mathematical  centre;  and  the  lower  base  line,  of  course, 
is  below  this  centre.  Observe,  as  a  result,  how  this  line, 
though  straight,  appears  to  curve  downward,  at  its  middle 
point.      Now  observ'e  the  second  drawing  in  hh'g.   14.     In 


ARCIIIl ECTURAL   PERSPECTIVE.  I03 

this  the  lower  line  of  the  trianL;le  is  made  to  curve 
slightly  upward  at  its  middle  point.  As  a  result,  this 
line  no  longer  appears  to  curve,  but  to  be  straight.  In 
the  lower  drawi!ig  of  I-'ig.  14,  two  similar  triangular  figures 
are  placed  together,  but  the  shorter  sides  of  each  triangle 
are  cmphasistrd  b)'  being  tripled.  This  emphasis,  accord- 
ing to  a  well-known  mental  law,  renders  it  impossible  for 
the  mind,  when  com[)aring  the  two  triangles,  to  confine 
attention  to  the  single  line  forming  the  longer  side  of  the 
triangle.  'Jlie  central  j^oint  of  attention,  when  looking 
at  each  triangle,  is  drawn  tow.ird  its  inathematical  centre, 
and  the  two  triangles  are  compared  together  as  wholes. 
The  effect  produced  by  each  triangle,  therefore,  is  the 
S;ime  as  that  produced  by  the  single  triangle  at  the  top 
of  l-'ig.  14.  In  botii  the  lower  triangles,  the  long, 
straight  line  seems  to  curve  awa\'  from  the  angle  opposite 
il,  and  the  twcj  long  lines,  —one  of  the  one  triangle  and, 
the  other  of  the  other, —  though  placed  in  a  position 
where  they  are  exactly  paiallel,  do  not  seem  to  be  so. 
Notice,  again,  the  cornice  curve  disco\-ered  by  Professor 
(joodyear  in  the  (jreek  "  Maison  Carree  at  Ximes"  (  I'ig. 
13,  page  104).  The  explanation  for  it  is  ver}-  clearly 
indicated  in   l-'ig.    16,  page  105. 

Sin^ilar  facts  explain  ditferences  in  measurements  in 
the  same  building.  Penrose,  in  his  "  Princi[)Ies  of  Athen- 
ian Architecture,"  says  that,  in  the  Parthenon,  the 
spaces  between  the  corner  columns  are  onl}-  six  feet  and 
atracti(jn,  whereas  between  the  otiier  columns  the\'  arc; 
eight  feet  and  a  fraction.  This  arrangement  was  e\-i- 
denlly  intended  to  make  all  the  spacc-s  seem  of  e<[ual 
size.  \o  other  arrangement  cmdd  have  accom[dishe(l 
this  re->iih.  .\otice  the  (li\'i>ions  indicatt.'d  in  each  hori- 
zontal line    in    each    rectangle    in    l'"ig.  '")_\  l)age   340.      All 


l„"'Ii 


:^U 


A  1  m 


'JftLlW 


'-1 


If       ' 


'Wlfl^/F'i'^ 


i    _ 


I       I 


WW'^l 


Jl. 


I ,     t 


^  \ 


!■< 


FIQ.    15.-PHOrOGSAPHIC  EFFECT  OF  CORNICE  CURVE    IN  THE  MAISON  CARREE-' 

DRAWN   BY  J-  W.   McKECHNIE. 

See  pa<^es  103,  126,  279. 


104 


^\-s     -^ 


I06  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  Ai^THETICS. 

these  divisions  are  of  equal  length.  Yet  it  is  impossible 
to  look  at  them  without  suspecting  that  the  divisions 
nearest  the  ends  of  the  lines  are  the  longest.  This  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  to  cause  these  end  divisions  to  appear 
of  the  same  length  as  the  others,  they  should  be  made 
shorter.  The  reason  why  this  is  so  is  owing,  of  course, 
to  the  roundness  of  the  e\-e.  When  we  look  at  the 
middle  of  a  horizontal  line,  there  is  actually  more  eye- 
surface  covered  by  the  divisions  at  the  sides  than  there 
is  by  the  divisions  seen  directly  in  front,  which  latter 
divisions  are  opposite  that  part  of  the  eye  which  is  most 
nearly  flat.  As  the  eye  is  rounded  vertically  as  well  as 
horizontally,  a  similar  principle  applies  sometimes  to 
vertical  measurements. 

In  order  to  produce  the  differences  in  measurement  of 
corresponding  factors  in  diiTerent  buildings,  an  architect 
need  merely  apply  to  architecture  the  same  methods  of 
carrying  out  the  laws  of  perspective  that  are  known  to  be 
applied  in  painting.  In  this  latter  art,  it  is  seldom  con- 
sidered necessary  to  apply  these  laws  with  mathematical 
exactness.  Each  draughtsman,  in  arranging  his  outlines, 
feels  at  liberty  to  stand  off  from  his  drawing,  and,  as  a 
result  of  repeated  examinations  and  experiments,  to  use 
his  own  ingenuity.  Indeed,  he  must  do  this,  in  an\-  cir- 
cumstances, because  the  required  measurements  differ 
with  every  foot  by  which  he  stands  nearer  to  his  product, 
or  farther  from  it.  Precisely  so  in  architecture.  Let  the 
man  in  I'ig.  16,  page  105,  ste[)  a  few  feet  farther  awa}- 
from  the  building,  and,  in  order  to  preser\x'  the  same 
effect,  not  only  would  the  curve  in  the  cornice  have  to  be 
lessened,  but  the  columns  at  either  end  of  the  colonnade 
would  have  to  be  brought  nearer  togetlier.  Let  a  temple 
placed  upon  the  brow  of  a  hill  be   intended  to  produce  a 


ARCni Th C I'URAJ.   PERSPECTIVE. 


10/ 


certain  effect  upon  those  asceiuliiii^'  it  and  the  pediment 
would  have  to  be  hi^^her  than  if  it  were  intended  to  pro- 
duce the  same  elTect  upon  those  on  a  level  plain.  Xo 
wonder,  then,  that  we  find  such  variations  in  the  meas- 
urements, and  such  a[)parent  lack  of  meanini;'  in  the 
variations,  as  are  indicated  in  the  following',  taken  from 
Penrose : 


Actual  rise  above  a  ;                      . 

Actual  len.yth    «          straight  line  I       1  roportmnal  rise 

I  i)f  the  front  or                   iuTnin"  correspondinsj  tn  a 

flank  measured.         [j,^.  extreiiritics  length  of  icjo  feet. 


I'i]iil(ir   ( )l\'iii])Us,  stylii- 
l.;itc,     llaiik.      .      '      . 

Tlicseuin,  >t yloliatc: 

t  runt 

tlaiik 

I'iirllienoii,       sub  -  base- 
ment, froiu 

Hank 

sl\inl)ate,    fi'oiit 

llank 

i-ntal)hiturr    frnni  i-a-l 

front 

ilo    on  llaiil^  n--torc'l 

l'i-o[)vl,i'a,       ciilaiilat  iirc 
I  roiii  i-\\~\   1  lorl  ic  I  . 


354- 
45- 


104.2 
2  2  I , 
I  o  I , ;, 

22>.  I 


.063 

.  lol 


I  71 


.119 


140 

"97 


14? 


,.32.=   ^.I45Jb-. 

.1=')—  •.;.!<);  )   >  i 


.171 


175 


In  tlie  ai^e  in  which  the  (ircc:l<  tcm])lcs  were  constructed, 
other  artists  believed  —  and  why  not  the  architect? — that 
a  man  should  stud\'  uprji;  a  product,  it  he  intended  to 
have  it  remain  a  model  for  all  tin;  futtire.  Is  it  not 
nattiral  to  su])pose  that  in  such  an  aj^e-  the  structtiral 
arraiT^ements  intended  to  counteract  o]Uical  defects,  or 
to  produce  o])tical  illusions,  or,  as  some  think,  to  pro- 
duce, in  connection  with  these,  effects  of  v.ariety  or  of 
vai^ueness  in  line  or  outline  i  see  pa;^e  8f)l,  weie  l.irL^cl}' 
the    residts   of    tin-   individual   e.vperiments   of   individual 


I08  rilE   ESSENTIALS   OF  yESTHETICS. 

builders?  If  not  such  results,  why  were  they  invariably 
diilerent  in  different  buildings  ?  J)Ut  if  the\-  were  such, 
the  predominating  motive  in  the  mind  of  the  ai  t  ist  was  not 
to  imitate  an\-  particular  form  that  he  had  seen  before,  so 
much  as  to  represent  its  geiieral  effect.  Thus,  from  tlie 
beginning  of  a.rchitccture  in  which  we  see  the  builder 
taking  suggestions  from  primitive  huts  or  from  the  truid<s 
and  branches  of  trees  in  nature,  to  the  highest  stage  of 
its  development,  where  we  see  him  taking  suggestions 
from  the  \vorks  of  previous  architects  we  find  him,  in  the 
degree  in  which  he  is  a  great  arti.^t,  representing  rathei 
than  imitatinii'. 


CI r AFTER   VII. 

AKT    AS    KKPRESENTATIVl-:    KA'l'IIKR    THAN     COMMUNICA- 
TIVE OE  TH()U(_;irrs  axe   emotions. 

Artistic  TreatniLMit  docs  Not  Iiicrcasc,  and  may  ])iniinish  the  Communi- 
cative (^)ualitic^  of  a  Product — Art  Involves  ( 'ommunii-ation  thr()UL;li 
U^ini;  or  Referring  to  Natural  Appearances  ;  /.  <■.,  through  Represent- 
ing tliese  —  Representation  of  Tlioughts  and  l-".motions  through  Sus- 
tained and  E'nsuslained  \'ocal  Sounds — l.'sed  Respecti\'el\'  in  Song 
and  ill  Speech  —  Music  does  Not  Communicate,  hut  Represents  Uiuler- 
l\iiig  Tendencies  of  Mental  I'rt)cesscs — Analogous  to  Natural  Processes 
—  Ereedoni  of  Iinaginati\e  Inference  Stimulated  also  in  Poetr\',  which 
should  Re|)re>e!it,  ratlu-r  than  Communicate — Illustration — Same 
rrinciple  Applied  to  Wdiole  Poems — The  Moral  in  Poetr\'  is  Repre- 
sented— X'isihle  Arts  R.e])resent  Thoughts  and  I''eeliiigs — Pai'Mings  and 
Statues  are  Ranked  According  to  the  (^)uality  of  the  Significance  wdiich 
they  Represent  —  llhistrated  in  Pictures  of  I'dowcrs  or  i''niit  —  ()f  Natu- 
ral Scenery —  ()f  Portraits  and  lluman  i'"igurc-s  —  Arthilectural  Repre- 
sentation, and  how  it  is  Related  to  Musical  —  Repre--eiitativ(.-  Cduiracter 
of  h'oundathnis,  XValls,  and  Roofs  —  Of  Const  nicti\'e  Designs  and 
(leneral  I'lan — Communicative  Effects  of  Such  Representation. 


JUST  as  rcf^rcsciilal io)t  is  a  more  appr()[)ri,ilc  term  tlian 
niiitaluni  lliriniLjli  wliicli  to  intlicatc  the  result  of  an 
aitistic  n'])ro(ltict ion  of  the  ap[)ear,inces  of  natnie,  so  tlie 
same  word  is  more  a])[)ro})riate  than  iininiiiiiiical uni  ox  any 
like  lerm  throuL;h  which  to  indicate  the  artistic  expression 
of  th(iii<_^hts  or  feeliiiL;s.  If  this  waie  not  so,  if  the  ])ii- 
mary  object  of  art    were   to  ci>inniii.  'cal'.:,  then    wordd  it 


I  I O  THE   E  SSEJV  TIA  L  S   OE  yE  S  THE  TICS. 

not  do  this  more  successfully  than  do  other  forms  of  ex- 
pression' But  does  art  do  this  more  successfully?  To 
say  nothint^  of  music  and  architecture,  which  all  men 
know  to  be  very  deficient  in  the  matter  of  communicating^ 
definite  information  of  an}-  kind,  do  poetry,  painting,  and 
sculpture  give  a  more  satisfactory  communication  with 
reference  to  thought  or  feeling,  in  the  sense  of  indicating 
more  clearly  exactly  what  a  particular  thought  or  feeling 
is,  than  do  sounds  and  sights  as  they  are  used  in  ordinary 
speech  and  w  riting?  The  moment  we  ask  the  question, 
we  are  read\-  to  answer,  Xo.  A  frequent  effect  of  making 
any  method  of  communication  more  artistic  is  to  make  it 
less  intelligible.  As  a  rule,  sighs,  shrieks,  wails,  can  com- 
municate, and  cause  a  listener  to  realise,  too,  the  particu- 
lar thought  or  feeling  to  which  they  give  expression  far 
more  unmistakably  than  is  possible  for  a  musical  passage, 
unaccompanied  by  words,  whatever  may  be  the  amount 
of  its  hush,  trill,  force,  or  complexity.  As  a  rule,  a  plain, 
direct  utterance  of  sentiment,  or  statement  of  fact,  is  far 
more  readily  apprehended,  if  that  be  all  that  is  desired, 
than  the  most  imaginative  effort  of  poetr\-.  As  a  rule,  a 
few  objects  carelessly  but  clearly  drawn  or  carved,  even 
if  as  rudely  as  in  an  r.ncieiit  hierogl_\-ph,  a  few  tree- 
trunks  roughl}'  built  together  for  supi)ort  and  shelter, 
can  convey  intelligence  of  their  purpose  much  more  dis- 
tinctly than  works  of  painting  or  scul[)ture  or  architecture 
upon  which  men  have  expended  _\-ears  of  labour.  Were 
the  communicati(.)n  of  thought  or  feeling  the  object  of 
art,  it  would  be  a  very  senseless  undertaking  to  tr\'  to 
attain  this  object  and  expend  ye:irs  of  labour  upon  it  by 
making  the  forn.is  of  communication  from  which  art  i.-. 
developed  'ess  ccjnmumicative. 

Yet,  evidently,  these  forms  of  natural  expression — in 


N A  TURF.    REPRESENTED   IN  ART  III 

tonation,  speech,  tlrawin^^  coUniriiig,  constructing, — just 
at  the  point  where  most  sat isfactory  as  means  of  com- 
municating thought  and  feeling,  hick  something  that  art 
needs.  What  is  this?  It  is  not  difficult  to  tell,  and  is 
clearly  suggested  by  all  that  has  been  unfolded  thus  far 
in  this  essay.  They  lack  that  which  can  be  given,  in 
connexion  with  expression,  by  the  reproduction  of  the 
effects  of  nature.  Penmanshii)  and  hieroglyphics  lack 
the  appearances  of  nature  that  are  copied  in  painting  and 
sculpture.  Prose  lacks  figures  of  speech  and  descriptions 
that  in  poetry  are  constantly  directing  attention  to  the 
same  appearances  ;  and  even  the  elements  subsequently 
developed  into  music  and  architecture  lack  traces  of  a 
ver}'  keen  observation  and  extensive  use  of  effects  in 
nature  which  would  not  need  to  be  observed  or  used  at 
all,  were  the  end  in  view  attainable  by  the  mere  com- 
munication of  thought  or  feeling.  Were  communication 
the  end  of  any  art,  the  elaboration  of  the  forms  of  nature 
would  cease  at  the  point  where  they  became  sufficient  for 
this  purpose.  But  it  does  not  cease  there,  and  it  does 
not  do  so  because  art  must  express  thought  or  feeling  by 
way  not  of  communication,  but  of  rcprcsoitaticvi. 

Let  us  notice  this  fact,  and  ceitain  legitimate  infer- 
ences to  be  drawn  from  it,  as  applied,  fnst,  to  the  arts  of 
sound.  When  a  man,  or  any  living  creature,  gi\'es  vocal 
expression  to  that  which  actuates  him,  there  are  two  dis- 
tinct forms  whicli  this  \v:a\  assume,  both  of  which,  how- 
e\'er,  all  cr(.:atures  can!U)t  always  pi'oduce.  The  sounds 
may  be  either  sustained  or  unsust, lined.  A  dog,  for 
instance,  howls,  and  also  barks;  a  cat  purrs  and  also 
mews — the  latter  in  both  a  sustained  and  an  unsustained 
way;  a  bird  warbles  and  also  chirps;  a  man  sings  and 
also   talks.       Here,    in   the-  lowest  and  most    elementary 


112  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  yESTllETICS. 

forms  of  vocal  expression,  we  seem  to  find  that  which 
separates  musical  notes  fiom  talking;-  tones.  It  is  a  differ- 
ence in  that  which  is  represt-nted.  and  it  is  the  only  dif- 
ference that  does  separate  them.  All  the  other  distinctions 
that  can  be  made  between  sounds  char;icteri-e  alike 
those  of  song  and  of  si)eech.  Sounds  differ  in  time, 
force,  pitch,  and  qualit\-.  According  to  the  first,  one 
sound  may  have  more  duration  than  another.  Artistic- 
ally developed,  in  connexion  with  force,  this  difference 
leads  to  rhythm.  J-^ut  there  is  rhythm  in  poetry  as  well 
as  in  music.  According  to  the  second,  one  sound  may 
be  louder  than  another.  I^ut  this  kind  of  emphasis  is  as 
common  in  conversation  as  in  chanting.  According  to 
the  third,  one  sound  ma}-  be  higher  in  the  musical  scale 
than  another,  .\rtistically  developed,  this  leads  to  tune. 
But  the  \-oice  rises  and  falls  in  speaking  as  well  as  in 
singing.  According  to  the  fourth,  one  sound  is  more 
sweet  and  resonant  than  another.  lUit  the  differences 
between  pure,  orotund,  guttural,  pectoral,  and  aspirated 
tones  are  as  decided  as  are  those  between  the  tones  in 
different  parts  in  singing  and  beLween  the  characters  of 
the  sounds  produced  by  ditTerent  musical  instruments. 

When  we  come  to  use  the  word  siisfaiiicii,  however,  we 
can  say  that  in  mu-ic  a  tone  is  sustained  in  time  with  a 
degree  of  force  at  one  pitch  and  with  one  kind  of  quality, 
in  a  sense  that  is  not  true  as  applied  t(^  speaking.  We 
may  use  articuLued  words  in  a  song,  yet  there  is  a  radi- 
cal difference  between  singing  them  and  talking  them. 
If  the  ditferent  methods  be  representati\-e,  sustained 
sounds  must  represent  something  sustained,  and  the 
others  something  not  sustained.  .\s  a  rule,  an  internru 
process  is  continued  or  sustained  because  it  is  not  inter- 
ru[)ted       As  a  rule,  too,  tliat  wliich  interrupts  is  external 


SONG  AND    SPEECH  1 1  3 

to  the  thoughts  and  feelings  in  which  this  process  is 
going  on.  Interrupt  the  creature  producing  the  sustained 
sounds, — go  out  at  night  and  speak  to  your  howHng  (h)g, 
take  tlie  milk  from  a  purring  cat,  the  nest  from  a  warbling 
bird,  or  the  plaything  from  a  singing  child,— and  at  once 
you  will  hear  sounds  of  the  other  form, — barking,  mew- 
ing, chirping,  and  scolding  in  w-ords.  We  may  say, 
therefore,  that  birds  and  men  naturall}'  si'.ig  to  meet  de- 
mands that  come  from  within;  they  naturally  chirj)  and 
talk  to  meet  those  that  come  frc^m  without.  The  sounds 
of  singing  continue  as  long  as  their  ]jr(xluccr  wishes  to 
have  them  ;  those  of  chiri)ing  or  talking  are  checked  ;:s 
soon  as  they  ha\^e  accomplished  their  outside  purpose, 
and  are  continued  only  b\'  way  of  reiteration  or  change, 
in  order  to  suit  the  changing  effects  that  they  are  per- 
ceived to  have  u[)on  the  creatures  or  persons  ti)ward 
whom  they  arc  directed.  Singing  need  not  convey  an)- 
definite  intelligence,  because  there  is  no  intrinsic  neces- 
sity that  anybody  should  underst;uid  it.  Chirping  or 
talking  must  convey  definite  intelligence,  because  this  is 
its  object. 

These  two  conditions  respectively  corres[)ond  exactl}-, 
as  will  be  observed,  to  those  which,  underlie  eitects  in 
music  and  in  poetry.  Music  is  often  said  to  re[)resent 
the  feelings.  Ikit,  as  indicated  on  ])age  5;.  there  is  a 
Certain  degree  of  feeling  under  the  menial  process  re'[)re' 
seiiteil  in  any  form  of  art.  The  exact  truth  with  refer- 
ence to  music  is  that  it  represents  certain  chi-v^es  of 
sustained  and  srd:)jective  feelings,  jox'ous  or  sad,  to  which 
there  is  no  outside  or  objective  reason  for  giving  definite 
or  intelligible  expression.  Therefore,  wliile  other  arts, 
by  words,  shapes,  or  coloui's,  contme  thought  to  some 
extent,  indicating,  as   the\-  do    in    no    unmistakable   wav. 


114  '^'^^^   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

that  of  which  one  should  thinly,  music,  when  it  has  once 
stirred  the  emotions,  leaves  these  to  sui^Ljest  whatever 
thoughts  of  joy  or  of  sadness  may  h'e  nearest  to  the  lieart 
of  the  man  who  is  under  its  controh  The  same  strains 
may  affect  differently,  so  far  as  regards  merely  the  form 
of  thought,  the  experience  of  every  one  who  listens  to 
them.  It  may  make  a  child  think  of  his  nursery,  a  \-outh 
of  his  school,  a  merchant  of  his  counting-room.  Vet, 
with  all  this,  it  would  be  an  error  to  think  that  the  men- 
tal influence  of  the  art  is  slight.  The  story  of  the  men 
hired  to  assassinate  Stradella,  who,  after  listening  to  his 
oratorio  in  Rome,  dropped  their  weapons  and  became 
the  saviours  of  his  life,  is  only  one  story  of  a  thousand 
evincing  men's  belief  in  the  contrary. 

Of  course,  this  conception  of  music  involves  its  repre- 
senting something  which,  though  in  one  sense  indefinite, 
nevertheless  is  fitted  to  have  what  may  be  termed  a 
definite  tendency  of  effect.  Why  this  is  true  can  be 
shown  only  when  we  come,  in  Chapter  XII.,  to  analyse 
the  elements  of  representative  expression  in  music.  At 
present,  it  is  enough  to  point  out  that  there  are  certain 
analogies  between  processes  of  the  mind  and  processes  of 
nature;  and  that  these  analogies  can  be  and  are  repre- 
sented in  the  best  compositions.  Here  is  part  of  a 
description  of  the  meaning  of  the  movements  of  a  s\-m- 
phon}-,  published  in  an  article  on  "The  Intellectual  In- 
fluence of  Music,"  b)-  Dr.  J.  S.  Dwight,  in  the  Atlantic 
Mo)ithiy  for  I  S70  : 

"How  is  it  with  us  when  a  matter  interests  us  and  ex- 
cites us  to  that  pitch  of  feeling  in  which  music  stej)s  in  as 
the  natural  language?  ()ur  whole  nature  is  engaged  in 
it :  reason,  passion,  frolic,  humour,  will.  If  a  matter  taxes 
our  reasoning,  truth-seeking  faculties   for  one  spell,  it  is 


KEPRESKNTATION  IN  MUSIC.  II5 

a  law  of  our  nature  that  we  then  quit  thinkini;'  and  oiil}- 
/<v7  about  it  for  another  spell.  We  modulate  out  of  the 
dialectic^'  into  tlie  religious  and  accepting  mode.i  It  Ztv?.s 
an  argument,  an  emulous  labour  of  the  brain;  it  has  be- 
come a  lyric  of  the  heart,  a  prayer,  a  hymn.  And  then, 
the  more  we  have  been  in  earnest,  the  more  naturally 
comes  the  reaction  of  frolic  fantasy  and  humour,  the  more 
lively  the  suggestions  and  'heat-lightnings'  of  a  quick, 
surcharged,  midsummer  fancy — the  sc/icrrjo  humours  that 
so  often  flash  from  characters  of  deepest  pathos.  But  the 
circle  of  moods  is  not  yet  complete.  Thought,  feeling, 
fancy,  are  but  phases  of  the  living  stream  that  yet  must 
ultimate  itself  in  action,  mu.^t  rush  into  deed,  and  so  pour 
its  life  into  the  great  ocean  whence  all  proceed  and  to 
which  all  tend.      That  is  l\\c  Jiitaic\" 

The  freedom  of  inference  just  mentioned  as  character- 
istic of  the  effects  of  music  is,  t(j  some  extent,  character- 
istic of  the  effects  of  all  the  arts.  yVs  intimated  on  page 
So,  these  arts  are  reprcsentati\'e  for  the  very  purpose  of 
ai)[)ealing  in  a  stimulating  way  to  imagination.  What  is 
imagination?  It  is  the  facult}'  of  the  mind  that  forms 
images.  Of  course,  in  the  degree  in  which  the  appeal  is 
made  so  definite  that  nothing,  as  we  sa)-,  is  left  to  im- 
agination, it  is  not  stimulated.  Let  us  apply  this  prin- 
ciple now  to  poetry.  Words  apparently  convey  definite 
meanings,  yet  it  is  a  fact  that  tlic)'  can  also  be  represen- 
tative. If  not,  the)'  are  mcrcl_\'  presentative  or  com- 
niuiiicati\-e,  and,  therefore,  n(jt  poetic,  but  prosaic.  To 
imderst.ind  this  distinction  is  necessar\'  to  an  under- 
standing of  poetic  art.  Take,  for  instance,  these  verses 
1))'  Longfellow.  What  lu:  willies  to  say  is  that  death 
iii.iy  o\-ertal<(j  the  artist  betore  he  acquires  the  skill  on 
■''■  riif  Allr^ro.  j  '['liL-  Aiid.uile. 


Il6  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .'ESTHETICS. 

which  his  heart  is  set.  Had  he  nierch'  communicated, 
or  stated,  this  fact,  he  woukl  have  written  prose;  but  he 
represented  it,  and  therefore  we  call  what  he  wrote 
poetry,  c.  g:  : 

An  is  I'ln^;  and  time  is  tlL-etiug. 

And  onr  liearts.  tliont^h  stout  and  brave. 
Still  like  muttled  diuni^  are  heating 

Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

TJic  Psalui  of  Life. 

.Vgain,  if  certain  persons  be  doing  certain  things,  one 
who  sees  them  will  probably  draw  some  mferences  from 
their  actions  with  reference  to  their  motives,  and  he  \\ill 
have  a  right  to  tell  his  inferences  — in  prose;  but  not,  as  a 
rule,  in  poetr\'.  In  this,  he  must  picture  what  he  has 
observed,  and  leave  others,  as  free  as  he  himself  has 
been,  to  infer  what  they  choose.  At  the  same  time,  in 
the  degree  in  which  he  is  an  artist,  h.is  picture  will  be  of 
such  a  character  as  to  impel  others  to  draw  from  it  the 
same  inference  that  he  himself  has  drawn.  Notice  the 
following.  The  reader  will  remember,  perhaps,  that 
when  Mall  began  to  read,  he  described  his  poem  as  being 
"nothing  worth."  The  mention  of  this  fact  will  ex[)lain 
the  use  of  the  phrase  " There,  now,- — that  's  nothing!" 
in  the  quotation. 

Here  einie.l  Hall,  and  our  last  liL;ht,  that  Iohl; 

Had  winked  and  threatened  darkne-s    llared  and  fell  ; 

.\t  which  the  rar-M5n,  sent  to  sleep  wdtli  souuii. 

And  waked  with  silence.  i;ruiUed  ''  Ciood  ''    hut  we 

.Sat  ra])t  ;   it  was  the  tone  with  which  he  read  — 

I'erhaps  some  modern  touches  here  and  there 

Redeemed  it  from  the  chari^e  ol'  noihingne->, — 

(  )r  cNe  we  hu'ed  the  man.  and  pri/ed  his  work  ; 

!  know  not  ;   hut  we  -ittinj:;.  a~  I  -aid 

ddie  Cock  cre\\-  loud  :    a<  at  thai  time  of  year 

'Idle  lu--!\-  hird  lake-  evei'v  hour  for  dawn  : 


REPKESENTA  TION  IN  FOE  TR  V.  11/ 

Tlien  Francis,  nuUtering,  like  a  man  ill-used, 

"  There,  now, — that  's  nothing  !  '"  drew  a  little  hack, 

And  drove  his  heel  into  the  smouldered  log. 

That  sent  a  blast  of  sparkles  up  the  Hue  ; 

And  so  to  bed. 

Mo)t  d'  ArtJinr  :    7'cnuysou. 

Is  not  this  simple  tale  of  what  was  done,  much  more 
expressive  than  would  have  been  a  long  prosy  description 
of  what  was  felt?  This  example  shows,  therefore,  that 
I)oetry  may  be  strictly  representative  of  external  sights 
and  sounds, — may  connne  itself  to  that  which  reproduces 
foj  the  imagination  a  picture  ;  and  yet  may  be  equall\-  and 
in  the  highest  sense  lepre-^entative  also  of  those  ideas  and 
feelings  which  exist  i:i  only  the  mind. 

This  same  principle  applies  iiot  only  to  single  passages, 
but  to  whole  poems.  When  Dante,  Shcd^espeare,  and 
Milton  first  conceived  their  greatest  works,  it  must  have 
been  'a  picture  that  ap[)eared  to  loom  before  their  imagi- 
nations; and  every  poem,  as  a  whole,  even  if  as  long  as 
"Othello,"  "I'^aust,"  or  the  ".luieid,"  must  furnish  what 
may  be  termed  a  moving  image  of  the  action  which  it  is 
designed  n(jt  to  state,  but  to  represent.  It  is  from  this 
image  that  the  reader  must  be  able  to  draw  whatever  moral 
is  to  be  indicated.  The  drama  of  "(  )thelIo,"  for  Instance, 
])ictures  to  us,  in  such  a  w,iy  that  we  cannot  fail  to 
perceive,  the  successive  stages  of  jL'alousy,  as  developed 
both  in  a  frank,  magnanimous  cliaracter  like  (  )thelli),  and 
in  a  deceitfid,  malicious  cliaracter  like  lago. 

1  cnnyson  has  well  expressed  this  fact  with  rtderiMice 
to  poetry  in  what  he  calls    I'lir  Mora/  i){  his  Ihiy-  Hri  am. 

So,    l.ady   I'dora,   l:il,e  my  lay, 

Aiid  if  \-ou  liiid  iiM  mur:d  there, 
(  'h  ),   1- ,'  )1.   in  an\'  ghi----  and  ^.i\' 

Wdiiil   MKii.d   Is  ill   liriii:'  fair. 


Il8  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

O  to  wliat  uses  sliall  we  put 

The  wildweed-tlower  that  simply  l)lo\vs  ? 

And  is  tliere  any  moral  shut 
Within  the  bosom  of  the  rose? 

But  he  has  suggested  in  his  next  stanza  another  truth 
that  needs  to  be  considered  in  connection  with  the  last, 
before  all  the  facts  concerning  the  functions  of  poetry  in 
the  world  can  be  understood. 

lUit  any  man  that  m  alks  the  mead 

In  hud,  or  Made,  or  l)loom.  may  find, 
Aecording  as  his  humours  lead, 

A  meanini^  suited  to  hi>  ndnd. 
And  lilR-ral  api")lication>  lie 

III  Ai't  lil<e  Nature,  dearest  friend, 
So 't  wei'c  to  erani])  it^  u~e,  it   I 

Should  hijok  ii  to  -ome  useful  eml. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  application  of  this  phase  of 
our  subject  to  visible  forms.  A  little  thought  will  cause 
us  to  recognise  that  it  is  impossible  to  take  very  great  in- 
terest in  a  face,  or  figure,  or  even  in  a  view  of  rocks,  or 
foliage,  or  water,  except  as  something  in  the  expression 
of  the  face,  or  in  the  attitude  of  the  figure,  or  in  the 
arrangement  or  general  effect  of  the  objects  comprised  in 
the  view,  strikis  us,  as  we  say.  This  is  a  graphic  way  of 
affirming  that  thoughts  and  emotions  arc  stirred  to  ac- 
tivity when  the  eye  perceives  objects,  just  as  inevitably 
as  ra}-s  of  light  surround  a  match  when  it  is  struck.  In- 
separably, in  such  cases  two  elements  of  interest  are 
present.  One  is  tlie  result  of  the  effect  percei^-ed  by  the 
eye;  the  other,  of  the  effect  experienced  in  the  mind. 
What  is  true  of  these  natural  appearances,  is  true  also  of 
artistic  reproductions  of  them.      Why  has  the  world  sel- 


REPRESENTATION  IN  PAINTING.  I  I9 

dom,  if  ever,  assigned  the  same  rank  to  painters  of  merely 
flowers  or  fruits,  or  even  of  landscapes,  that  it  has  as- 
signed to  those,  like  Raphael,  Titian,  or  Rubens,  who 
have  depicted  the  human  figure?  Why  are  the  greatest 
names  in  the  history  of  sculpture  those  whose  statues  are 
of  men?  It  is  as  difficult — not  only  so  but,  sometimes, 
because  their  laws  of  proportion  have  been  less  studied, 
more  difficult — to  model  the  forms  of  animals. 

The  answer  to  this  is  that  the  world  in  general  judges 
of  subjects  by  the  possibilities  of  significance  in  them. 
There  are  both  greater  opportunity  and  necessity  for  man- 
ifesting thought  and  emotion  in  connection  with  a  land- 
scape than  with  a  dish  of  fruit  or  a  vase  of  flowers;  and 
in  connection  with  human  figures  than  with  landscapes. 
Of  course,  many  pictures  of  fruits  and  flowers  are  su- 
perior, as  works  of  art,  to  many  pictures  of  human 
figures;  but  in  case  of  equal  skill  displayed  in  the  repre- 
sentation of  form,  the  art-work  ranks  highest  which 
necessitates  thought  and  emotion  of  the  highest  quality. 
Tl)is  principle  enables  us  to  rank  as  subjects  not  only 
flowers  and  fruits  below  landscapes,  and  landsca[)es  below 
human  figures,  but  to  rank  below  others  certain  products 
representing  exactly  tlie  same  objects.  h'or  instance, 
flowers,  oranges,  grapes,  apples,  or  wine  or  beer  in  a 
glass, — all  tliese  may  be  portrayed  so  skilfully  as  to  be 
exceedingly  artistic.  But  it  is  easy  t(.)  [')erceive  that  the 
appeal  of  the  picture  as  a  thing  of  significance  may  be 
differently  determined  by  different  circumstances.  A 
vase  of  flowers  represeited  as  being  in  a  room  upon  the 
sill  of  a  closed  window,  bcvond  which,  outside  the  house, 
can  be  seen  snowdrifts  and  frost-laden  trees;  or  fruits  and 
\'iaiuis  represented  as  heaped  upon  a  table  where  lu-ver- 
tlieless    a    lialf-nnpty    plate    and    glass   and    an    unfi^lded 


120  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .^ESTHETICS. 

napkin  give  evidence  that  some  one  has  already  par. 
taken  of  all  that  he  wishes,  with,  perhaps,  a  window  near 
by,  through  wliich  a  half-starved  face  of  a  child  is  wist- 
fully peering, — arrangements  like  these,  or  hundreds  of  a 
similar  character,  which  might  be  thought  out  or  felt 
out,  would  put  thought  and  em.otion  into  the  picture; 
and  thus  mai<e  it  representative  of  these.  Can  anybody 
deny  that  pictures  thus  made  significant  by  means  of 
arrangement,  if  equally  well  executed,  would  rank  higher 
than  pictures  merely  imitative? 

If  this  be  true  of  representations  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
it  must  be  still  more  true  of  tliose  of  natural  scenery.  It 
is  possible  for  a  painter  to  imitate  the  outlines  and  colours 
of  scenes  that  he  sees  before  him,  without  reference  to 
any  consciousness  of  receiving  or  conveving  impressions 
of  thought  or  emotion  in  connecti(jn  with  them.  But 
the  greatest  painters  do  more  than  this.  "The  Storm  " 
of  -Millet  l^Fig.  7,  p^tgc  91  )  is  not  a  great  picture;  but  it 
deserves  a  higher  rank  than  it  miglit  otlierw  i>e  deser\-e 
on  account  of  the  apparent  human  intluence  which  has 
made  a  unity  of  its  every  suggestion.  In  the  "Land- 
scape with  Waterfall"  of  Ruysdael,  in  the  National 
Gallery  in  London,  the  ground,  trees,  clouds,  and  atuKxs- 
phere  seem  filled  with  water;  and  in  his  "Jewish  Ceme- 
tery "  in  the  Dresden  Gallery  (l-'ig.  17,  page  121)  the 
profound  melancholy  of  the  whole  is  only  heightened  by 
the  contrasting  light  of  the  pale  sunbeam  that  falls  ujion 
some  few  tombstones,  and  of  the  rainbow  in  the  rear. 
All  things  else, — the  deca}Mng  gravestones,  the  deca\-ing 
building,  the  deca\'ing  tree,  barkless  and  crooked;  and, 
not  onI_\-  these,  but,  in  strict  analog}-  \\'\\.\\  them,  the 
clouds  and  water,  too,  under  the  influence  of  wind  and 
current,  are  absolutelv  congruous  in  their  general  effects. 


KEPRESEXTATION  IX  J'AIA'TIA'G. 


121 


In  Claude's  "Morning"  in  the  Dresden  Gallery,  we  have 
represented  not  onl)-  in  a  \-ellow  sky  the  dawii  of  the 
day,  but  su^i^estions    of    the    da\vnin<^   or   be^innini^-    of 


FiG    17.     JEWISH    CEMETERY.      J      RUYSDAEL. 
Sec  |i;i;_;i-   1  2<  > 


iTian\-  other  lliiii;j.s      ;i^,  fm    instaMec,  in  a  lake  tiie  l)e;_^'in- 
nin;4  of   a  ri\a;i';    in    a    slu'plu'iil    ])l,T_\-iir4    on    his    pijic,  the 


122  THE   ESSKXTIALS   OF  yESTllETICS. 

beginning  of  music;  in  a  maid  sitting  beside  him,  the 
beginning  of  romance;  in  a  basket,  as  \-et  unopened,  cov- 
ered with  a  white  cloth,  as  well  as  in  another  n'laid,  draw- 
ing water  from  a  well,  the  beginning  of  social  feasting; 
in  a  castle  built  in  an  earl)-  style,  the  beginning  of  art  or 
archilectare ;  in  a  city  faintly  seen  at  a  distance,  the  begin- 


FIG.    18.      TARD    PLAYERS.- CARAVAGGIO. 
See  ])n;a--.  123.  icrJ,  243. 

ning  of  civilisation:  in  a  group  called  the  Holy  I'^imiK', 
because  of  its  resemblance  to  this,  as  conventionally 
depicted,  the  beginning  of  religion. 

When  we  come  to  pictures  into  which,  as  into  this  last, 
human  figures  are  introduced,  there  seems  to  be  no  end 


REPRESENTA  J  loy  IN  J'AIXTING. 


123 


of  the  ways  in  whicli  thc>'  c;i!i  he  made  representative. 
Notice  what  is  said  on  pa^-e  192,  of  the  ]-)ortraits  of  Titian 
and  of  Reynolds  ;  and  on  the  same  page  of  tlie  "  Card  V\\\\ 
ers,"by  Caravaggio  (Fig.  iS,  page  122).  Consider,  too,  the 
statue  of  tile  Laocoon  {\'v^.  19,  page  123;.  Can  any  one 
fail  to  recognise  how 
large!}-  its  excellence  is 
owing  to  the  clccU-  and 
emphatic  way  in  which 
it  represents  certain 
thoughts  and  emo- 
tions? Again,  talce 
the  picture  represented 
in  I'ig.  20,  page  125, 
used  here  b\'  the  kind 
permission  of  its  own- 
er, Mr.  Charles  T. 
Yerkes.  In  this  pic- 
ture a  fashionable  wo- 
man is  represented  as 
having  left  her  carriage 
in  charge  of  her  coach- 
man and  fo(jtman,  and 
seated  herself  in  a  pa:]'C 
on  a  bench  large 
enough  for  two.  h"or  whom  i 
is  lier  ideal"  Just  above  lier 
without,  a  head,  but  holdi;i_ 
be,  a  flute,  a  m.an  witl'.out  a  head  wlio  ue\'ertlieless 
is  ready  to  l)ip<-  for  her!  X^'itliout  u-ing  any  means 
to  wliich  any  one  could  object  011  tlie'  ground  of  its 
not  being  appropriate  for  tin:  art  of  painting  (see 
page   159J)      this     picture     outh'ius     a     story     as     clearly 


19.      SCULPTURED    Gi^OUF- OF  THE  LAOCOON 


she    waiting?      What 
a  statue    of    a    man 
wliere    his    mouth   should 


124  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTHETICS 

and  completely — and  very  much  in    the    same    way — as 
one  of  Heine's  lyrics. 

Architecture  may  produce  the  same  effect  as  that 
which  we  have  just  been  attributing  to  the  other  arts. 
One  may  have  merely  constructed  a  box.  Ikit  the  way 
in  which  he  has  done  this,  to  some  extent,  represents 
hini.  If,  in  addition  to  what  is  useful,  he  have  produced 
what  is  ornamental,  if  he  have  laid  out  a  Rower  garden  or 
carved  the  lid  of  a  box,  then  his  product  represents  him 
still  more, —  shows  something  more  about  his  nature, 
tastes,  feelings,  and  susceptibilities  for  sentiment.  Archi- 
tecture, like  music,  represents,  not  <'i  responsive  and  un- 
sustained,  but  a  spontaneous  and  sustained  mood.  In 
both  arts  there  is  less  conscious  imitation  than  in  the 
other  arts,  and,  in  both,  such  effects  as  are  imitated,  after 
being  developed  in  i)art,  continue  to  be  developed,  to  a 
degree  not  true  in  the  other  arts,  according  to  an  inward 
law  of  their  own.  Using  as  a  theme  a  few  notes  repre- 
senting a  mood  of  mind  as  indicated  by  a  song  of  nature, 
the  musician  goes  on  to  compose  a  whole  symphony  to 
correspond  with  them.  So,  from  a  icw  outlines  of  win- 
dows, doors,  or  roofs,  the  architect  goes  on  to  construct 
a  whole  building  to  correspond  with  these.  This  method 
he  applies  not  only  to  the  development  of  new  forms,  but 
to  the  ornamentation  of  old  forms.  In  doing  this,  he 
merely  carries  out  a  princi[)le  exemplified  in  the  action 
of  the  human  mind  in  any  like  relation.  I-'or  instance, 
a  man,  for  practical  purp(jses,  produces  a  piece  of  woven 
cl'jth  or  s(jmething  made  through  the  use  of  it.  That 
the  cloth  may  not  ravel  at  its  edge,  a  section  of  it  is  pur- 
posely unravelletl  there,  or  a  hem  is  made  here,  or,  if  two 
pieces  of  cloth  be   used,  a  seam   is  produced   wliere  the 


126  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  yES THE  TICS 

two  arc  Joined.  After  a  little,  according  to  a  law  which 
the  mind  always  follows,  the  imagination  begins  to  ex- 
periment with  these  necessary  contrivances,  and  then  the 
unravelled  etlgc,  the  hem,  the  seam,  each  respectivel}-, 
becomes  a  fringe,  a  border,  or  a  stripe;  i.  r.,  each  is  de- 
veloped into  one  of  the  well-known  ornamental  resources 
of  the  art  of  the  tailor  or  the  upholsterer.  It  is  the  same 
in  architecture.  When  the  imagination  begins  to  play 
with  the  underi)innings  of  buildings,  or  with  the  means 
of  approaching  and  entering  them,  it  gives  us  founda- 
tions, steps,  or  porches;  when  with  the  parts  upholding 
the  roof,  it  gives  us  pillars,  pilasters,  or  buttresses ;  and 
when  with  the  tops,  sides,  and  bottoms  of  openings,  it 
gives  us  caps,  or  sills  of  doors  or  windows;  wdien  with 
the  roof  and  its  immediate  supports,  it  gi\'es  entablatures, 
eves,  gables,  domes,  or  spires. 

All  these  features,  moreover,  are  representative.  If 
the  foundations  be  apparent  and  large,  they  indicate 
support  and  sufficient  support  (^hh'g.  15,  page  1041.  If  the 
steps  or  entrances  be  broad,  the}-  indicate  accommodations 
on  the  inside  lor  a  multitude  (Fig.  34,  page  227).  If  the 
windows  be  high  or  wide,  they  indicate  a  high  or  wide 
room  on  the  inside  1  Fig.  29,  i):ige  220V  In  thoroughly 
successful  architecture,  the  walls  are  es[)ecialh-  trans- 
parent, as  it  were,  revealing  ;dl  the  internal  arrangements. 
Horizontal  mouldings  or  string-courses  show  where  the 
floors  are,  and  vertical  buttresses  or  pilasters,  where  are 
the  partitions.  Xotice  how  the  floors  and  walls  of  every 
room  in  the  interior  seem  to  be  represented  in  the  facade 
of  the  University  at  S\'(lriey  ( i^h'g.  2  1,  page  1271.  Roofs, 
when  arti.-,tic,  are  viuble.  In  public  buildings,  at  least, 
they  should  indicate  tile  shapes  of  the  ceilings  under 
them,      A    dome    is   out    of    i,)!ace    unless  it  span   a  \-ast 


>      IM 
CO 

I-  ^' 


uj    — 

>    o 


128  THE   KSSENTIALS   OF  .^ISTUKTICS. 

;-;[)acc;  and  towers  and  spires  are  inexcusable  unless  they 
be  adaptations  of  features  that  are  useful. 

When  an  experienced  traveller  conies  upon  even  ruins, 
he  draws  certain  inferences  from  the  appearances  that 
they  present.  J  i-".li;in^"  merely  from  these,  he  says,  for 
instance,  with  reference  to  the  methods  of  construction, 
that  some  particular  pillar,  bracket,  lintel,  arch,  was 
shaped  and  placed  as  it  is  in  order  to  furnish  just  the 
sui)port  needed  for  some  particular  Aveight  or  ;uranijement 
of  material  which  is  over  it.  Or  he  sa\-s  that  some  par- 
ticular foundation  was  laid  as  it  is  in  order  to  suit  some 
particularly  rock}-,  sandy,  or  marsh}'  soil;  or  that  some 
particular  roof  was  pitched  as  it  is  in  order  to  tit  a  dr}' 
viK  wet  climate,  to  shed  rain  or  snow.  Or,  judj^ing  from 
arrangements  of  doors  or  windows,  he  sa}-s,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  general  uses  of  a  building,  that  some  particu- 
lar part  is  an  audience  hall,  a  chai)el,  or  a  picture  gallery. 
l^\-en  if  he  find  nothing  except  founckitions,  he  often  de- 
clares this  to  be  a  theatre,  and  that  to  be  a  tem[)le,  or  a 
bath,  or  a  private  house;  and  not  only  so.  but  sometimes, 
as  at  Pompt'ii,  he  tells  the  purpose  of  each  of  the  differ- 
ent rooms  of  the  house. 

Observe  that,  in  all  these  wa}\s,  it  is  po-sible  for  a 
building  to  be  representative;  moreover,  tha.t,  just  in  the 
degree  in  which  it  is  so,  the  interest  awakened  b}-  it  is 
enhanced.  It  then  comes  to  have  the  same  effect  upon 
us  that  would  be  produced  did  its  ijuilder  stand  b}'  us 
and  tell  us  exactlv'  what  his  thoughts  were  when  design- 
ing the  arrangement  that  we  see.  It  is  a^  if  he  were  to 
sa}- :  "I  had  a  conception  that  it  would  be  a  good  ide.i 
in  this  position  to  have  an  aich  projected  so,  or  a  ceiling 
supported  1:)\'  a  liracket  inserted  so  ;  or  a  foundation  in 
soil  like;  this  laid  so;   (U'  a  rool  in  a  climate  like  this  shai)ed 


ARCHITECTURE,  1 29 

so;  or  a  chapel  for  a  sect  like  this  planned  so;  or  an  audi- 
ence hall  for  an  assembly  like  this  arranged  so."  And 
the  more  one  knows  of  architecture,  the  more  innumera- 
ble will  he  recognise  to  be  the  thoughts  and,  in  the  de- 
gree in  which  ornamentation  is  increased,  the  resthetic 
feelings  that  it  is  possible  for  the  architect  to  represent 
through  these  apparently  lifeless  forms  of  wood  or  brick 
or  stone. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

ART  AS  REPRESENTATIVE  RATHER  THAN  PRESENTATIVE 
OF   THE    PERSONALITY  OF  THE  ARTIST. 

Relation  of  Art  to  the  Artist — Art  Emphasises  tlie  Fact  that  Natural  Fac- 
tors are  Usetl  for  Expression — This  Fact  Reveals  a  Spirit  Capable  of 
Expressing  Thouglits  and  Emotions — Why  High  Art  Uses  Forms 
Otlier  than  those  Belonging  to  the  Artist's  Own  Body — Connection 
between  the  Creative  in  the  Divine  and  in  the  Artist — Both  Necessitate 
Representation — Representation  of  Spirit  and  of  the  Subconscious 
Nature — Connection  in  Art  between  Personal  anil  Sympathetic  Effects 
— Explanation — How  Art  can  Represent  Appearances  as  they  Affect 
the  Individual,  and  yet  as  they  Affect  All — Owing  to  Artist's  Sympa- 
thetic Temperament — What  is  Genius? — Its  Effects  Representative  of 
the  Individual,  and  yet  of  Men  in  General. 

T  N  Chapter  I.  it  was  said  that  art  of  the  class  which  we 
are  considering  necessitates  an  external  product,  like 
a  poem  or  a  painting,  as  distinguished  from  an  effect  pro- 
duced, as  in  elocution  or  pantomime,  by  the  movements 
of  one's  own  body.  This  is  equivalent  to  saying  that 
art  of  the  highest  rank,  in  addition  to  representing  rather 
than  imitating  the  phenomena  of  nature,  and  to  repre- 
senting rather  than  communicating  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions, must  represent  rather  than  present  the  personality 
of  the  artist,  meaning  here  by  the  word  personality  that 
combination  of  spirit  and  body  which  belongs  to  oneself 
as  an  individual,  and  to  no  one  else.  To  understand 
why  personality  should  be  represented  rather  than  pre- 
sented,   let   us   recall,   for   a  moment,   what  was  said   in 

130 


ARTISTIC  EXPRESSION.  I31 

Chapter  III.  There,  the  impulse  to  art  was  attributed 
to  Hfe-force  or  energy  issuing  from  the  subconscious  or 
spiritual  nature,  and  striving  to  embody  itself  in  the  ma- 
terial. We  all  know  that  the  spiritual  itself  cannot  ap- 
pear,— it  can  merely  represent  itself  in  the  material.  At 
the  same  time,  of  course,  representation  is  involved,  to 
some  extent,  in  every  form  of  expression.  All  thoughts 
and  emotions,  as  they  exist  in  the  mind,  are  inaudible 
and  invisible,  and,  in  order  to  be  communicated  to  others, 
they  must  be  symbolised  through  sights  and  sounds  bor- 
rowed from  nature.  But  tliere  is  a  different  use  of  these 
latter  in  ordinary  expression,  and  in  that  of  art.  In  ordi- 
nary expression,  it  is  sufficient  that  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  should  be  cle;ir]y  presented.  Upon  artistic  ex- 
pression, as  in  that  of  a  poem  or  a  statue,  years  of  labour 
are  frecjuently  expended  in  order  to  secure  a  result  be- 
yond that  of  mere  clearness  of  expression. 

Upon  v\hat  is  it  that  the  artisi:,  in  such  cases,  expends 
his  labour?  Of  course  it  must  be  upon  that  which  the 
expression  contains  i'l  addition  to  the  thoughts  and  emcj- 
tions.  What  docs  it  contain  in  addition  to  these?  No- 
thing more,  certain!}-,  than  the  exprcssic^nal  factors.  .Vs 
it  is  not  the  thoughts  and  emotions,  it  must  be  the  ex- 
j)rcssional  factors  th;it  are  intended  to  be  emphasised; 
and  when  we  recall  that  it  is  the  exi)tcssi(jnal  factors  that 
are  repeated  in  art,  and  to  u'liat  an  extent  all  art  iiu'olves 
rc'j)etition  (see  page  27O),  and  that,  as  a  rule,  rej^etition 
nece-;sa!  il\'  emphasises,  we  sliall  recognise  the  truth  of 
this  inference.  I-Sut  \vh\'  sliould  expressional  factors, 
aside  from  that  which  they  express,  be  emphasised?  ]'"or 
no  reason,  of  course,  except  to  emphasise  the  fact  that 
they  are  expressional,  which  fact,  as  will  be  noticed,  is 
uiiiir.[)ortant   exce[)t  so  far  as  it  invrilves  the  existence  of 


132  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

something  behind  them,  /.  c,  of  a  mind  capable  of  using 
them  for  this  purpose.  But  what  interest  has  the  artist 
in  manifesting,  or  the  world  in  knowing,  that  certain 
forms  of  nature  are  factors  used  for  the  purpose  of  ex- 
pression by  a  mind  behind  them? 

In  answer  to  this  question,  let  us  ask  another,  —  Arc 
there  any  problems  of  life  of  interest  so  profound  as 
those  which  have  to  do  with  the  relations  of  mind  to 
matter?  ]\Iust  it  not  be  a  fact  that  mortals  conscious  of 
a  spirit  in  them  struggling  for  expression,  feel  that  they 
are  doing  what  becomes  them  when  they  give  this  spirit 
vent  and  with  earnest  care  for  every  detail  elaborate  the 
forms  in  which  they  give  it  this?  What  are  they  doing 
when  thus  moved  but  objectifying  their  inward  processes 
of  mind;  but  organising  with  something  of  their  own  in- 
telligence, but  animating,  with  something  of  their  own 
soul,  the  forms  of  material  nature  that  are  about  them. 

Xow  notice  that  these  effects  will  be  emphatically  pro- 
duced in  the  degree  alone  in  which  the  material  forms 
wdiich  one  uses  in  his  art  are  not  those  belonging  to  his 
own  material  body.  Every  man  gives  expression  to  his 
spirit  through  using  his  own  body.  To  give  such  ex- 
pression in  the  most  empliatic  way,  one  must  do  it  in  an 
exceptional  way;  and  this  can  be  done  alone  when,  un- 
like ordinary  men,  he  uses  forms  that  are  not  an  organic 
part  of  his  own  nature  (see  page  10).  Evidently,  too,  in 
this  case,  the  external  material  forms  thus  used  cannot 
be  said  to  present — they  merely  represent — himself. 

In  our  first  chapter  it  was  said  that  the  arts  cannot 
create.  But  it  was  not  said  that  they  cannot  be  creative. 
If  by  the  creative  we  mean  the  power  which  seems  to 
rej)resent  di\-ine  intelligence  through  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  nature,  what  can  more  resemble  this  than  can 


THE   FACULTY  DIVINE  133 

the  power  of  him  \\\\o  makes  a  further  use  of  these  same 
sights  and  sounds  for  the  purpose,  throu<^h  them,  of 
representing^  the  processes,  which  otherwise  might  not  be 
manifested  at  all,  of  his  own  thoughts  and  feelings?  Is  it 
strange  that  he  should  take  delight  and  pride  in  work  like 
this,  and  in  connection  with  it  feel  the  sources  of  the 
deepest  ins[)iration  stir  within  him?  Who  is  there  that 
could  not  draw  delight  and  pride  and  inspiration  from 
the  consciousness  of  being  in  the  least  degree  a  follower, 
an  imitator,  a  child  of  llim  wlio  ceated  the  heavens  and 
the  earth? 

It  is  no  wonder  that  men  attribute  the  products  of  the 
great  artists  to  "the  faculty  divine,"  or  the  "inspiration" 
of  genius.  "I  tell  you,"  said  King  Henry  \"III.  to  a 
nobleman  who  liad  brought  him  an  accusation  against 
the  painter  Holbein,  "I  tell  you  of  se\-en  peasants  I  can 
make  as  many  lord-^,  but  of  seven  lords  I  could  not  make 
one  Holbein."  There  is  a  real,  though  subtle  corresj)ond- 
ence  between  the  wcjiks  of  the  Creator  and  the  creative 
works  of  art.  And  just  as  the  former  reveal  the  presence 
(jf  the  divine  spirit,  so  the  latter  reveal  that  of  the  human 
spirit.  Precisely,  too,  as  the  divine  spirit  is  not  pre- 
sented, as  we  might  say,  through  material  forms,  but 
merely  represented  thrcjugh  methods  of  movement  and 
formation,  so  with  the  human  s[)irit.  \\  hen  we  say  that 
a  poem  is  Miltonian  or  Shakesi)earian,  we  refer  less  to  the 
subject-matter  of  the  worlc,  than  to  the  method  repre- 
sented in  its  style  and  composition. 

Now  we  come  u[)(jn  two  apparent))'  anomalous  facts. 
One  might  su[)pose  that  re[)resentation,  ex'crting,  a.^  it 
does,  an  indirect  intluence,  would  re\'eal  less  of  an  artist's 
character,  and  would  alsrj  ap])eal  less  to  the  syni])athies  of 
others,  than    wou.ld    presentation,   exerting,  as    it   does,  a 


134  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ANESTHETICS. 

direct  influence.  I^ut  the  truth  seems  to  be  the  con- 
trary. Nor,  when  we  think  a  moment,  will  it  seem  sur- 
prising that  this  is  so.  As  applied  to  the  revelation  of 
character,  it  is  simply  a  fact  that  all  of  us,  in  determining 
what  a  man  is  in  his  spirit,  intentionally  or  uninten- 
tionally, judge  him  by  what  he  appears  to  be  in  his  sub- 
conscious rather  than  in  his  conscious  nature ;  therefore 
more  by  what  he  unconsciously  represents  of  him- 
self than  by  what  he  consciously  presents.  This  is 
true  in  every  relation  of  life.  No  man  ever  fell  in  love 
with  a  woman  because  of  her  words  or  deeds  that  he 
supposed  attributable  to  conscious  intention.  So  with 
the  products  of  art.  The  most  professionally  trained 
dancers  and  singers  who  prove  fascinating  to  us  do  so  be- 
cause of  slight  unconscious  peculiarities  of  movement  in 
body  or  voice  which  are  characteristic  of  them  as  indi- 
viduals, and  cannot  be  acquired  by  another  with  another 
personality.  This  fact  is  true  of  the  effects  of  any  kind 
of  expression  embodied  in  any  kind  of  form.  The  chief 
charm  of  a  melody,  poem,  painting,  or  statue,  even  of  a 
building,  often  lies  in  certain  subtle  touches  given  to  it 
by  its  producer  unconsciously, — in  characteristics  which 
it  is  sometimes  impossible  for  the  critic  to  analyse  or 
even  to  describe.  Yet  it  is  these  touches  that  most 
surely  convey  the  impression  of  the  artist's  individuality. 
Need  it  be  said  that  they  do  not  present  his  conscious 
intention?  They  represent  his  unconscious  method,  a 
method  that  he  cannot,  so  to  speak,  avoid. 

Closely  connected  with  the  apparent  anomaly  just 
considered  is  the  other  of  which  mention  was  made.  One 
might  suppose  that  indirect  representation — /.  i'.  expres- 
sion made  through  the  use  of  forms  entirely  dissociated 
with  those  of  one's  own  body — would  appeal  less  to  the 


ART'S  S  YMPA  THE  TIC  EFFE  CT:>  1 3  5 

sympathies  of  others  than  would  direct  expression,  or 
what  has  been  termed  presentation.  J^ut  this  supposition, 
again,  would  not  be  entirely  correct.  Owing  to  the  per- 
sonality of  effect  indicated  in  the  preceding  paragraph  as 
characterising  representative  expression,  this  latter  some- 
times makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  sympathies  than 
does  the  other  form  of  expression.  \\'e  all,  to  an  ex- 
tent, recognise  this  fact  when  we  quote  witl;  approval  the 
maxim  that  actions  speak  louder  than  words.  As  ap- 
plied to  art,  w  hen  methods  characterising  a  product  have 
been  made  characteristic  of  an  artist's  personality,  others 
must  be  influenced  by  the  product  as  they  would  be  b\' 
his  personality.  But  how  are  they  influenced  by  this? 
I  low  do  any  of  us  come  to  possess  an  ideal — or  come  to 
take  an  interest  of  any  kind  in  anything — that  is  peculiar 
to  the  personality  of  another?  There  is  but  one  answer: 
It  is  through  our  sympathies — a  word  which,  as  thus  used, 
applies  primarily  to  our  emotions,  but  includes  also  our 
thoughts,  as  influenced  by  these.  Vox-  examples  to  illus- 
trate this  appeal  of  art  to  the  sympathies,  notice  the  way 
in  which  Tennyson  begins  his  "Gardener's   Daughter": 

This  morning  is  the  morning  of  llic  day 
When  I  anil  Kustace  from  llie  city  went 
To  see  the  Gardener's  l)auu;hter  ;    1  ami  lie 
I;rother^  in  art  ;    a  friendship  so  complete 
Portioned  in  liaUe^   between  u-,  that  we  grew 
The  fable  of  the  city  where  we  dwelt. 

And  how  Ih-owning  begins  his  "Ring  and  the  Book": 

1  )<j  you  see  this  i"i"t;  ? 

'1    is  Rome-work  made  to  match 
(I'.y  ("asti-llani's  imitative  craft      ) 
I'.t  I  iii'ian  I  ir>  lets  found,  ^onie  happv  nmrii,  etc. 


136  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS 

Do  you  see  tliis  sciuarc  old  yellow  book,  I  toss 

r  the  air,  ami  catch  again,  and  twirl  about 

By  the  crumpled  vellum  covers — jiure  crude  fact. 

****** 
Examine  it  yourselves  !     I  found  this  book, 
Gave  a  lira  for  it,  eight  pence  English  just. 

These  passages  read  as  if  the  writer  subconscioush^  de- 
sired to  take  us  into  his  confidence, — as  if  he  felt  us  to 
be  on  a  level  with  his  own  plane  of  thought,  and  believed 
that  we  should  understand  his  feelings  in  the  circum- 
stances, which  therefore  he  need  not  describe  to  us.  The 
explanation  of  the  method  seems  to  be  that,  as  human 
beings,  men  crave  sympathy  not  merely  with  the  volun- 
tary movements  of  their  minds,  but  often  with  the  in- 
voluntary. The  universe,  too,  which  surrounds  them  is  a 
constant  mystery  and  source  of  speculation.  They  be- 
lieve that  there  are  causes  for  its  forms  and  movements, 
spiritual  meanings  back  of  its  material  symbols.  Yet 
these  arc  apprehended  only  vaguely,  looming  dimly,  as 
they  do,  from  the  regions  of  the  unseen.  Accordingly 
when  men  whose  subconscious  or  hidden  intellection 
seems  able  to  commune  with  these  regions,  embody  their 
vague  conceptions  in  forms  of  art,  appealing  in  such  ways 
as  to  reveal  to  another  what  accords  with  his  own  sub- 
conscious impressions,  it  is  inevitable  that  his  soul  should 
experience  intense  satisfaction.  He  feels  that  his  own 
impressions  have  been  confirmed  by  another's  intellect  not 
alone,  but  at  the  same  time  have  been  felt  also  by  an- 
other's heart. 

At  first  thought,  the  principle  previously  stated, 
namely,  that  the  art-product  is  successful  in  the  degree 
in  which  the  artist  represents  his  surroundings  in  such 
ways  as  to  manifest  his  own  personality,  by  which  must 


SENSIBILITY  OF  ARTIST.  1 37 

often  be  meant  his  individual  thoughts  and  emotions, 
seems  to  conflict  with  the  principle  just  unfolded,  which 
attributes  his  success  to  the  degree  in  which  the  concep- 
tions that  he  embodies  are  not  merely  his  own,  but  those 
of  others.  Second  thought,  however,  will  convince  us 
that  the  two  principles  conflict  only  seemingly.  In  prac- 
tical experience,  no  one  has  any  difficulty  in  recognising 
the  individuality  of  a  Raphael  and  a  Shakespeare  in  al- 
most ever}^  product  of  their  skill;  yet  this  does  not  pre- 
vent the  product  from  being  an  accurate  representation 
of  nature  as  viewed  by  all  men.  Painters,  sculptors, 
dramatists,  are  greatest  when  most  thoroughly  them- 
selves, yet  greatest  also  when  their  minds,  like  mirrors, 
reflect  their  surroundings  in  such  ways  as  to  conform 
most  exactly  to  the  observations  of  the  world  in  general. 
The  reason  for  this,  of  course,  is  that  no  conceptions  of 
the  meanings  of  nature  can  be  universally  accepted,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  they  have  been  derived  from  the  appear- 
ances of  nature  as  universally  perceived. 

These  statements  direct  thought  back  at  once  to  what 
was  said  in  Chapter  III.  with  reference  to  the  sources  of 
art  in  artistic  emotion,  and  hence  in  temperament.  One 
who  is  to  preserve  his  own  originality,  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  derive  from  the  forms  and  suggestions  of 
nature  the  s  ime  conceptions  that  othcis  derive  from 
them;  one  who  is  to  have  the  personal  force  to  incor- 
porate in  a  form  peculiar  to  himself  that  phase  of  truth, 
natural  or  spii'itual,  which  most  readily  commends  itself 
to  all,  must  evidently  be  a  man  of  sensibility,  as  well  as 
of  rationality,  a  man  able  to  syiripatliise  as  well  as  to  in- 
fer. Only  such  a  man  can  be  conscicnis  of  almost  every 
influence  at  work  on  every  side  of  hini,  and  yet  throw  all 
the  energy  of  his  subconscious  or  involuntar)'  mind,  as 


138  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

we  have  found  that  the  artist  must  do,  into  the  expres- 
sion of  the  fact.  Only  such  a  man  can  be  controlled  by 
his  surroundings,  and  yet  manifest  the  freedom  from  con- 
trol which  is  essential  to  that  play  of  the  mind  which  is 
characteristic  of  all  imaginative  results. 

Accordingly  we  must  conclude  that  here,  too,  as  well 
as  in  connection  with  the  conditions  mentioned  in  Chap- 
ter III.,  we  have  revealed  a  sense  in  which  every  artist, 
as  well  as  poet,  is  "born  and  not  made."  At  least  it 
must  be  true  that,  so  far  as  he  is  made,  his  training  must 
be  such  as  to  increase  his  inborn  capabilities  of  being 
aroused  b_\'  the  appearances  about  him  to  subconscious 
and  involuntar}-  intellection  in  harmony  wiih  suggestions 
legitimate  to  these  appearances.  This  i-;  about  the  same 
as  to  say  that  the  great  artist  must  liave  within  him  the 
possibilities  of  genius.  For  what  is  genius?  The  term  is 
derived — through  the  Latin  word  ^i^r/n/s,  meaning  some- 
thing characterised  by  the  source  of  its  begetting  or  pro- 
duction, therefore  a  faniily,  race,  or,  in  this  sense,  kind 
— from  the  word  i^ciicrc,  meaning  to  beget  or  to  pro- 
duce. The  word  genus  seems  to  combine,  therefore,  the 
ideas  both  of  X'///^/ and  of  production.  It  means  t//e  kind 
that  is  produced.  The  termination  n/s  means  I'clougiiig 
to.  Therefore,  genius  means  something  belonging  to  tlic 
ki)ui  tliat  is  produced.  All  recognise  that  by  the  ^''^v////j' 
of  an  age  or  a  race,  as  when  we  say  "the  genius  of  the 
English  people,"  is  meant  the  kind  of  production  in 
thought,  word,  deed,  invention,  or  composition,  that  be- 
longs to  the  age  or  race.  And  a  genius. — what  is  he,  but 
some  one  man  who  is  the  source  of  this  kind  of  produc- 
tion?— a  man  whose  feelings,  aims,  opinions,  deeds,  or 
words  are  true  representatives  of  kinds  that  belong  to 
his  age  or  race?     Was  not  this  true  of  Homer,  Pheidias, 


GENIUS  139 

Raphael,  Milton,  Mozart,  Goethe,  and  Beethoven?  Could 
their  works  have  appeared  except  when  and  where  they 
were  produced?  And  if  we  want  to  find  out  what  was 
the  genius  of  the  age  of  each,  do  we  not  examine  what 
was  done  by  these  men  and  by  others  who  were  typical 
of  their  age?  And  is  not  this  one  reason  why  we  term 
these  men  gerciuses  ?  But,  of  course,  there  is  also  another 
reason,  yet  it  is  connected  with  this.  As  indicated  in 
Chapter  IV,,  a  man  is  considered  to  be  a  genius  in  the 
degree  in  which  he  is  able  to  give  unimpeded  outward 
expression  to  results  coming  from  the  hidden  sphere  of 
mind.  But  this  sphere  is  occultly  connected  with  the 
whole  hidden  or  spiritual  sphere  of  nature.  The  genius, 
therefore,  is  a  man  whose  temperament  makes  him  one 
of  his  kind,  and  therefore  makes  his  products  reflect  the 
fact,  in  the  sense  of  inclining  hi.n  to  be  influenced  as  are 
other  human  beings,  and  as  are  also  all  the  animate  or 
inanimate  developments  of  life  that  is  not  human.  The 
word  goiiiis  is  sometimes  used  for  the  word  spirit.  Why 
is  this  except  because  genius  tends  like  spirit  to  make 
the  mind  work  in  harmony  with  what  may  be  termed  the 
Mind  in  nature,  and  hence  with  the  Spirit,  or,  if  we 
choose  to  be  poh-theistic,  tlie  spirits  in  nature,  of  which 
Milton  sings  when  he  sa^-s?- — 

And  as  1  wake,  sweet  imi^ic  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  iiii(lerneath, 
Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  uood, 
Or  th'  unseen  (ienius  of  tlie  v;(jod. 

//  Pciistroso. 

The  genius's  interpretations  of  nature  commend  them- 
selves, therefore,  both  because  nature  makes  the  same 
appeal  to  him  as  to  others  tlirough  its  visible  forms,  and 
also  because  it  causes  a  unitv  of  action  between  the  sub- 


140  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF    AESTHETICS. 

consciouo  processes  of  his  mind  and  its  own — /.  e. ,  nature's 
own — invisible  processes.  This  unit}-  of  action  results 
in  expression  which  is  artistic  inasmuch  as  it  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  individual  artist,  and  yet  is  also  natural 
inasmuch  as  it  is  characteristic  of  what  is  experienced  by 
men  in  general,  the  representations  of  art,  notwithstand- 
ing the  intervention  of  human  skill,  appearing  to  spring- 
up  and  flow  forth  to  influence  as  naturally  as  fountains 
issue  into  streams  and  buds  burst  into  blossoms.  As  a 
result,  the  art  of  any  age  is  the  blooming  and  fruitage  of 
the  influences  of  nature  and  humanity  that  have  been  at 
work  on  every  side  throughout  long  centuries. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE     DIFFERENT    ARTS     AS     REPRESENTIXO     DIFFERENT 
PHASES    OF    MENTAL   CONCEPTION. 

Tlie  Art  Used  in  Ivxpression  is  Often  Determined  by  the  Thout^ht  or  Emo- 
tion to  he  l-'.xpre.^sed — Form  oi  Kxpressi(jii  Appropriate  for  l-",acli  Stai^e 
of  Any  (liven  Experience — Physical  Thrill,  and  Vocal  Expression 
Leading  to  Music — Definite  Opinions,  and  Verbal  I^xpression  Leading 
to  Poetry — Conflictini;  Oi)inions  Leading  to  Oratory — Contemj)lation 
of  b'acts  as  they  Appear  Leading  to  Painting  and  Sculpture — I'lanning 
and  Re-arranging  Leading  to  Arcliitecture — Relations  of  External 
Lifluence  and  States  of  Consciousness  as  Representeil  in  l-".ach  Art — 
Mental  Contents  and  lutluence  fronr  Witiiout  Compared  to  Ice  on 
Water  Flowing  into  an  Inlet — Conditions  Corresponding  to  Music, 
Poetry,  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Arcliitecture  —  Testimony  of  Physics 
— Largest  Ner\e-Moveiiient  in  Music,  Less  in  Poetry,  Less  Still  in 
Cohnirs,  Least  in  Lines — Nerves  are  Directly  Conscious  of  X'ibrations 
in  Sound,  as  in  Thunder,  but  not  of  \"ibratioiis  in  ('olours — This  Fact 
Illustrated  Mythologically  and  Medicinally — Mental  I'acts  Accord  with 
what  has  Preceded — The  Indelinite  is  Represented  in  1  narticulated 
Music;  the  Definite,  in  Articulated  I'oetry  —  Difference  in  Representa- 
tive Effects  of  Wo;  (Is  and  Tones — Is  a  Difference  between  \'isualising 
Thouglit  and  Nm  \'i--uali~ing  it  --  Illustrations — Non  Imaginative 
Effect  of  I'octry  lliat  does  Not  Suggest  Sight-,  —  Non-Success  of  Poetry 
too  Exclusively  Nhisical. 

T  T  lias  been  shown  tliat  tlic  artist  represents  tlie  si'oiits 
or  sotinds  of  nature  in  order,  tlirotii;]!  them,  to  repre- 
sent liis  thoughts  or  emotions.  Tin's  statement  at  once 
su<^<^fests  that  certain  classes  of  natural  pheiKjniena,  and 
therefore  certain  forms  of  art,  dirferin<j,  say,  as  music 
from  painting,  must  be  better  fitted  than  aie  others 
for  the    representation    of   certain   phases   of  thought    or 

141 


142  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .ESTHETICS 

emotion.  Let  us  consider  this  suggestion.  We  shall  find  it 
introducing  us  to  a  very  interesting  and  important  field 
of  inquii\\  Our  first  conception  would  be  that  the  sight 
or  sound  pcrcciv^ed  in  nature  would  of  itself  indicate  the 
forms  in  which  the  thoughts  or  feelings  awakened  in  con- 
nection with  it  should  be  reproduced  in  art.  Such  is 
sometimes  the  case.  It  would  always  be  the  case,  if  art 
were  a  mere  imitation.  But,  whether  imitative  or  not, 
art  is  also  an  expression  of  thought  and  emotion,  aiid, 
because  it  is  so,  the  form  used  must,  at  times,  be  sub- 
ordinated to  the  requirements  of  that  which  is  to  be 
expressed.  To  illustrate  this,  suppose  a  man  to  have 
listened  to  the  story  of  a  battle.  It  might  be  presumed 
that  a  representation  of  what  he  has  heard  would  also 
assume  the  form  of  a  story,  and  therefore  be  artistically 
expressed  in  a  poem.  But  often  the  effect  of  the  story 
upon  his  imagination,  as  also  of  his  imagination  upon  it, 
is  such  that  what  is  experienced  can  be  represented  trulh- 
full\'  only  through  a  picture.  Again,  it  happens  some- 
times that  the  forms  through  which  the  effects  have  been 
exerted,  have  lingered  so  long  in  his  mind,  and  experi- 
enced so  many  modifications  there  that,  though  critical 
analysis  may  detect,  as  in  architecture  and  music,  that 
the  effects  produced  have  been  suggested  by  forms  in 
nature,  the  artist  himself  is  unconscious  of  what  these 
forms  were.  Let  us  develop  this  idea,  and  show  its  re- 
lations to  the  form  of  representation  manifested  in  each 
of  the  arts.  As  a  result,  we  shall  find  that  all  these  are 
elaborations  of  instinctive  modes  of  expression  which,  in 
certain  circumstances,  the  mind  is  forced  to  adopt.  To 
make  this  fact  clear  is  evidently  to  bring  to  light  princi- 
ples that  lie  at  the  very  bottom  of  our  subject,  and  which, 
when   seen    hi  their  true  proportions  and   relations,  will 


REPRESEXTIXG  I'lIASI'lS  OF  COXCEl'JIOX 


143 


reveal  a  sure  foundation  on  which  to  base  all  that  can  be 
affirmed  of  the  thoughts  and  emotions  fitted  for  repre- 
sentation in  each  art. 

Let  us  consider,  then,  at  first  briefly  and  superficially, 
which  is  all  that  is  necessary  at  this  stage,  the  general 
order  of  development  of  representative  modes  of  ex- 
pression in  the  case  of  an  individual  influenced  by  some 
specific  event  or  series  of  events.  Suppose  a  man  to  be 
in  a  crowd  composed  of  persons  of  conflicting  opinions 
with  reference  to  some  subject  mentioned.  Suppose 
that  a  statement  be  suddenly  made  there — as  was  done 
in  so  many  places  in  our  country  in  1861,  when  Fort 
Sumter  fell — that  some  flag  has  been  fired  upon,  or  some 
fortress  attacked.  Of  course,  the  effect  of  the  news  will 
differ  in  different  individuals;  but  let  us  observe  its  in- 
fluence on  the  average  man  strongly  interested  in  what  is 
thus  brought  to  his  notice.  Is  it  not  true  that  this  man 
will  first  experience  a  thrill  or  shock,  as  if  his  nervous 
system  had  been  physically  shaken?  \\.  the  same  in- 
stant, from  him,  or  at  least  from  some  parts  of  the  crowd, 
will  arise  sounds  of  approbation  or  of  disapprobation, 
cheers  or  hisses,  followed  by  exclamations  more  or  less 
inarticulate  or  incoherent,  according  to  the  degree  in 
which  the  one  uttering  them  is  more  or  less  excited. 
This  condition  evidenth'  can  have  no  irtistic  expression 
unless  it  be  in  music.  In  fact,  it  was  in  song  that  the 
crowds  on  Wall  Street,  Xcw  A'ork,  invariably  expressed 
their  first  impressions  during  the  .American  ci\'il  war 
when  receiving  news  from  the  army,  especiall}-,  of  course, 
when  receiving  news  of  victory;  but  they  kept  up  their 
courage  in  the  same  way,  also,  when  receiving  news  of 
defeat. 

But  let  us  pass  on.      Iminediately  after  the   peri(Ml   of 


144  'THE.   ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS 

indefinite  sounds  will  come  definite  expressions  of  opin- 
ion. Now  notice  that  the  more  excited  the  men  uttering 
these,  or  listening  to  these,  happen  to  be,  the  more  figur- 
ative, as  a  rule,  will  be  their  language.  This  or  that  must 
be  done  "like  this  or  that,"  will  be  the  formula  upon 
every  lip.  There  is  no  need  of  stopping  to  argue  that 
such  figurative  language  is  the  mode  of  representation 
naturally  developed  into  poetry. 

At  the  stage  next  after  this,  expressions  of  opinion 
uttered  freely  in  a  crowd  mixed  like  the  one  that  we  are 
considering,  will  lead  necessarily  to  altercation,  disputa- 
tion, and,  if  practical  interests  be  involved,  to  efforts  at 
persuasion.  Here  evidently,  as  it  is  well  enough  for  us 
to  observe  in  passing,  are  the  modes  of  representation 
natural  to  oratory. 

If,  after  a  time,  efforts  at  persuasion  be  recognised  to 
be  of  no  avail,  talking  will  necessarily  give  way  to  other 
methods.  The  first  of  these,  with  the  majority  of  a 
crowd  like  the  one  of  which  we  are  thinking,  will  be  to 
take  the  measure  of  those  before  them.  I-'or  a  brief 
moment,  at  least,  they  will  merely  gaze,  intent  to  see  ex- 
actly what  it  is  that  they  have  to  face.  That  which  at 
this  time  absorbs  the  attention,  if  it  be  represented  at 
all,  evidently  requires  a  picture.  A  photographer,  did 
he  happen  to  be  a  witness  of  the  scene,  who,  so  long  as 
he  was  sufficiently  excited  to  argue,  would  not  think  of 
the  mere  appearance  of  those  surrounding  him,  might, 
at  this  stage,  in  case  his  interest  did  not  carry  him  on  to 
the  next  stage,  bring  out  liis  camera.  W'e  have  here, 
then,  conditions  which  are  at  the  basis  of  representation 
according  to  the  modes  of  painting  and  sculpture. 

After  this  momentary  facing  of  the  situation,  however, 
any  one  not  willing  to  accept  conditions  as  they  present 


REPRESENTING   STATES  OF  CONSCIOUSNESS      1 45 

themselves  to  view  will  evidently  be  prompted  to  take 
measures  for  chanj^ing  them.  If  surrounded  by  foes  ex- 
citing his  physical  nature,  he  will  plan  to  fight  them;  if 
by  friends,  too,  whom  he  desires  to  lead  to  battle,  he  will 
do  what  he  can  toward  marshalling  them  into  companies 
and  battalions,  thus  changing  their  confusion  to  order. 
This  mood,  in  the  effect  that  it  has  in  rearranging  the 
appearances  of  nature,  is  evidently  analogous  to  that 
which  finds  expression  in  the  modes  of  representation 
exemplified  partly  in  sculpture  and  wholly  in  architecture. 
In  the  latter  art,  the  mind  no  longer  accepts,  as  in  paint- 
ing, the  appearances  of  nature  as  they  are;  it  asserts  its 
supremricy  over  the  influences  from  without,  and,  while 
accepting  certain  details,  attempts  to  change  the  con- 
ditions under  which  they  arc  presented.  The  moment, 
however,  that  this  supremacy  becomes  actual,  the  mo- 
ment that  a  man  becomes  really  free  from  the  influences 
from  without,  the  possibility  of  representing  thoughts 
and  emotions  through  representing  outward  effects  ceases. 
The  occupation  of  the  artist  is  gone  as  completely  as  that 
of  a  soldier  who  has  no  foes.  The  influence  that  first 
prompted  to  expression  in  the  forms  allied  to  music  has 
exhausted  itself.  We  have  traced  it  to  a  point  beyond 
which  it  can  be  traced  no  farther. 

Let  us  try  now  to  go  deeper  into  our  subject.  Let  us 
try  to  ascertain  more  definitely  precisely  what  conditions 
of  natural  influence  and  what  states  of  consciousness  are 
rei)resented  in  each  art.  In  order  to  do  this,  let  us  use 
another  illustrati(»n.  v\t  first  it  may  seem  fanciful.  Later 
on  good  reasons  for  using  it  will  be  given.  The  illustra- 
tion is  suggested  b\'  words  that  we  a[)ply  to  ordinary  ex- 
pLM'iences,  whose  extraordinary  developments  alone  lead 
to  rei)resentative   art.      \\'(ji(ls  are  like  wrinkles,  external 


146  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS 

marks  of  internal  moods.  Sometimes  by  tracing  back 
the  derivation  of  a  word,  one  may  find  out  the  mental 
condition  that  originated  it. 

To  apply  this  principle  in  the  present  instance.  WHien 
we  say  that  the  mind  is  moved  or  a ffcclcd hy  an  iiijliicncc 
or  Diotivc  from  without,  so  far  as  we  convey  any  meaning 
it  is  this:  That  the  mind  has  certain  contents,  and  that 
these,  which  otherwise  would  be  stationary,  and  therefore 
unnoticed  by  consciousness,  are  set  in  motion  when  some- 
thing from  without,  by  an  i)ijhix  or  influence,  Jloies  into 
it.  In  order  to  comprehend  fully  the  comparison  thus 
indicated  b\-  the  words  that  we  use,  let  us  do  what  will 
enable  us  in  imagination  to  magnify  its  factors.  Let  us 
represent  the  contents  of  the  mind  by  the  floating  but, 
except  for  outside  influence,  stationary  ice  in  some  bay 
or  inlet,  and  at  the  same  time  represent  that  which  flows 
into  the  mind  b_\-  the  waves  and  currents  entering  this 
bay  or  inlet  from  an  ocean.  Let  us  observe  what  is  the 
natural  order  of  development  of  the  relations  sustained 
between  the  waters  thus  forced  inward  and  the  ice.  Is 
it  not  something  like  this? 

At  the  point  nearest  the  ocean,  the  waves  sweeping 
over  the  ice  break  off  and  bear  up  and  down  small  por- 
tions of  ir,  but  with  such  force  that  the  ice  forms  but  an 
insignificant,  perhaps  an  indistinguishable,  part  of  the 
effect  of  the  waves  as  a  whole.  This  is  the  condition 
corresponding  to  that  of  music.  A  little  farther  inward, 
the  floating  ice  covers  the  waves.  We  see  mainly  the 
ice,  but  it  is  moving,  and  its  mox'ement  indicates  that  of 
the  water  under  it.  This  is  the  condition  found  in  poetry. 
Still  farther  inward,  the  portions  of  broken  ice,  crowded 
together  by  the  force  of  the  wa\-es.  begin  to  offer  mani- 
fest  resistance.      Uj)  to  this  point  one  could  hardl}-  dis- 


VIBKATIONS  IN  DIFFERENT  ARTS  1 47 

tinguish  from  a  distance  the  ice  from  the  waves.  Here  it 
becomes  almost  impossible  to  confound  the  two  ;  for  at 
one  place  the  weight  on  the  surface  is  seen  crushing  down 
the  surf,  and  at  another  the  surf  is  seen  breaking  through 
and  above  tlie  surface.  This  is  the  state  of  things  in 
painting  and  sculpture.  Last  of  all,  at  places  nearest  the 
shote,  the  force  of  the  waves  seems  to  be  crushed  out 
com])letely,  yet  the  effects  produced  by  them  are  abund- 
antly apparent  in  the  great  moveless  heaps  of  ice  resting 
against  the  water-line.  This  represents  the  condition  in 
architecture. 

Tet  us  now  notice  whether  this  order  of  development 
in  the  relations  existing  between  the  influence  from  with- 
out and  the  possessions  within  the  mind  has  any  basis  in 
facts;  first  in  physical  facts,  afterwards  in  mental  facts. 
To  begin  with,  are  there  any  physical  facts  which  justify 
us  in  comjKuing  the  action  of  outer  effects  upon  the  mind 
to  that  of  wa\'es  upon  something  stationary;  and  if  so, 
is  there  an\-  reason  why  these  waves,  at  their  greatest, 
can  be  represented  in  music,  and,  at  their  least,  in  archi- 
tecture? T(j  both  these  questions  we  can  gi\'e  an  affirm- 
ative answer.  I'lu'sicists  tell  us  that  the  acoustic  nerve 
fioats  in  a  fiuid  back  of  the  drum  of  the  ear;  also  that  the 
optic  nerve  rests  against  a  con  esponding  luimor  back  of 
the  crystalline  lens  of  the  eye.  'l"iu_\-  tell  us  that  when- 
ever sounds  or  .-iglits  reach  intelligence,  tlu;_\-  are  conveyed 
to  it  because,  as  a  fact,  these  nerves  are  phx'sicallv  shaken 
t]irf)ugh  the  iiifiuence  of  waves  from  without  which  strike 
til!'  (,:ar  drum  or  the  cr\-stalline  lens.  So  much  for  the 
first  (juestion;  now  fo;-  the  second.  Phvsicists  tell  us 
also  that  the  waves  \-ibrating  to  shake  the  acoustic  nei\-e 
a 'e  so  large  that,  at  the  least,  a'ooiit  -^ixteen  of  tln:m,  and, 
at  the  moit,  about  tort\-  thtuisand,  can  ino\-e  in  a  second 


148  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS 

of  time;  but  that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  waves  shaking 
the  retina  are  so  minute  that,  at  the  least,  about  four 
hundred  and  eighty-three  trihions,  and,  at  the  most, 
seven  hundred  and  twenty-seven  trillions,  can  move  in  a 
second.  These  assertions  indicate  that  the  sensation  of 
being  most  shaken,  shaken  b\-  the  largest  waves,  or  when 
the  influence  has  most  force,  can  be  represented  or  com- 
municated better — and  any  nervous  mother  with  half  a 
dozen  small  bo}-s  will  confirm  the  statement  from  her 
own  experience — through  sound  than  through  sight. 

Whether  we  consider  quantity  or  quality,  there  is  more 
of  sound  represented  in  music  than  in  poetry.  By  con- 
sequence, of  the  two  arts,  the  former  represents  better 
the  first  effect  of  a  motive  per  sc  ;  i.  r. ,  the  most  power- 
ful, the  least  exhausted  effect  of  an}-  influence  from 
without,  considered  mere]}-  as  an  influence.  Orator}- 
appeals  to  sight  as  well  as  to  hearing.  For  this  reason  it 
represents  a  later  effect  than  poetry.  ( )f  those  arts  which, 
because  thev-  appeal  to  sight  alone,  represent  effects  in 
sight  still  later  than  orator}-,  p.iinling  evidently  conies 
first.  It  uses  more  brillianc}-  and  variet\-  of  colour, 
necessitating  larger  vibrations — the  largest  of  all,  for  in- 
stance, producing  extreme  red — and  also  greater  depend- 
ence upon  ever}-thing  conditioned  directly  by  influence 
of  this  kind  than  is  the  case  with  either  sculpture  or 
architecture. 

There  are  other  ph}'sical  facts  which  confirm  \\diat  has 
been  said.  Consider  the  degrees  oi  force  accomj^any ing 
the  influences  which  affect  respective!}-  the  ear  and  the 
eye.  Thunder,  which  one  hears,  can  make  the  founda- 
tions of  one's  house  shake  literally.  Nothing  similar  can 
be  affirmed  of  effects  that  one  can  only  sec.  The  (ireeks, 
whose  myths   with   reference  to   other  matters  were    so 


VIBRATIONS  IN  DIFFERENT  ARTS  1 49 

significant,  represented  their  conceptions  of  the  influence 
of  music  in  the  story  of  Orpheus  ami  Amphion,  who,  with 
their  harps,  drew  around  them  not  only  wild  beasts,  but 
trees  and  stones,  causing  all  to  dance  to  their  melodies, 
and  finally  bringing  the  stones  together  to  form  the  walls 
of  a  mighty  city.  Nor  are  these  conceptions  of  the  physi- 
cal inOuence  of  sound  expressed  in  myths  alone.  ]^oth 
ancients  and  moderns  have  used  music  medicinally. 
Plato,  Plutarch,  and  Cicero  all  speak  of  its  sui)posed  re- 
medial powers.  In  modern  times,  eminent  physicians 
in  I'lngland,  Prance,  and  Germany  ha\e  insisted  upon  its 
efficac}'  in  cases  not  only  of  insanit\%  but  of  hemorrhage, 
fever,  and  of  almost  all  kinds  of  spasmodic  troubles.  In 
our  own  country  it  is  used  more  or  less  in  insane  asylums. 
However,  the  (question  of  the  medicinal  properties  of 
sound  or  of  music  is  not  the  one  with  which  wc  are  here 
concerned.  Some  may  doubt  them;  but  even  if  so,  none 
can  doubt  that  whatever  in  such  circumstances  may  be 
affirmed  of  a  man's  physical  nature,  it  is  a  fact  that  at 
least  his  mental  nature  is  affected.  I'JTects  in  the  mind, 
in  the  degree  in  which  they  ap[)eal  to  consciousness  in 
the  form  of  mere  movement,  are  termed  sensations  or 
emotions.  The  first  experience  of  a  man,  when  strongly 
influenced  from  without,  mak'cs  him  mainly,  though  not 
wholly,  unless  he  have  wholh'  lost  his  mind,  conscious  of 
these  emoticjns.  His  first  and  always  an  instinctive  ex- 
pression simultaneous  with  such  an  experience  is  an  in- 
articulate cr\'.  If  we  startle  a  person  -  come  upon  him 
suddcnl}-,  for  instance,  in  the  dark  -in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  we  hear  this  cr\-,  its  intensity  l)eing  in  direct  propor- 
tion to  his  lack  of  control  o\'er  thosi,'  ])owers  of  his  mind 
which  gi\'e  rise  to  dc;!!  niteiiess  in  thought.  'Jlu:  child  is 
more  liki  1\-  to  scream  than  the  man. 


150  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF    .-ESTHETICS 

These  facts  sui;<^est,  at  once,  their  reason.  One  utters 
inarticukite  sounds,  because  he  has  not  had  time  enough, 
either  absolutely,  or  relatively  to  the  intensity  of  his 
feelings,  to  collect  and  formulate  them  into  words;  often, 
indeed,  not  even  into  thoughts  that  are  definite  to  him- 
self. If  the}-  were  so,  he  would  use  the  only  form  capable 
of  representing  definite  thought,  which  is  language;  in 
other  words,  he  would  express  himself  in  the  form  which, 
when  artisticall}-  developed,  leads  to  poetry.  In  this 
form,  when  the  sound-waves  break  against  the  nerves  of 
the  outward  senses,  the  mind  that  feels  their  influence  is 
in  a  condition  in  which  it  is  conscious  of  being  filled,  not 
with  indefinite  and  undefined  sensations,  as  in  music,  but 
with  definite  sentiments,  many  of  which  seem  virtually 
identicrd  with  words  which,  !:)}•  way  of  comparison  or 
association,  clearly  define  them.  Suppose  that  a  man  be 
prompted  to  enlist.  If  his  mind  be  stored  with  facts  of 
history,  he  ma\-  think  about  Wellington  at  Waterloo,  or 
Grant  at  \'icksburg.  If  he  be  accustomed  to  views  of  ex- 
ternal nature,  he  may  think  about  thunder  and  lightning 
felling  the  forests,  or  hail  and  flood  sweeping  through 
mountain  passes.  He  cries  out  concerning  a  fortress  and 
its  defenders,  "We  must  storm  it;  we  must  give  them 
thunder  and  lightningl"  He  does  this  because  storms, 
thunder,  and  lightning  are  definite  conceptions  which  are 
already  in  his  miiul.  The}-  make  up  the  substance  of 
which  he  is  conscious,  when  he  uses  his  mind,  or  thinks. 
If  ice  fill  a  bay  completely,  an  obser\'er  can  know  that 
the  water  u!ider  the  ice  is  moving,  onl}-  as  he  sees  tlu;  ice 
moving.  This  is  the  relationship  between  that  with 
which  the  mitid  is  filled  and  the  influerice  from  without 
which  we  find  in  poetr}-. 

This    relationship,    and   the  ditTerence  between   it  and 


CONCEPTIONS  IN  POETRY  151 

that  which  exists  in  music,  is  clearly  suggested  by  the 
fact  that  the  general  result  is  represented  in  poetry 
through  the  use  of  articulated  words,  and  in  music 
through  the  use  of  inarticulated  tones.  Words  repre- 
sent conceptions  which  are  sufficiently  intelligible  to 
be  clearly  defined.  Tones  represent  conceptional  tend- 
encies, which  are  not  always  sufficiently  intelligible  to 
be  clearly  defined.  The  consequent  difference  between 
the  effects  of  the  two  arts  is  this:  Both  infiuence  the 
imagination,  and,  while  doing  so,  conjure  pictures  which 
pass  in  review  before  it;  but  while  poetry  indicates  defi- 
nitely what  these  pictures  shall  be,  music  leaves  the  mind 
of  the  listener  free  to  determine  this,  the  same  chords 
inclining  one  man,  perhaps,  to  think  of  his  business,  and 
another  of  his  recreation;  one  of  a  storm  at  sea,  and  an- 
other of  a  battle-field. 

Now  notice  a  further  fact  with  reference  to  this  diiTer- 
ence, — a  fact  which  will  serve  to  emphasise,  too,  the 
importance  of  tlie  geneial  princi[)le  brought  out  in  this 
chapter,  namely,  the  necessity  of  clearly  distinguishing 
the  phase  of  representation  appropriate  for  one  art  from 
that  appropriate  for  another.  'I'lie  fact  is  this, —  that 
words  make  thought  definite  because  the\'  ap[)eal  to  the 
imagination  as  is  done  through  the  sense  not  only  of 
hearing  but  also  of  sight  ;  and  tliis,  not  onl}'  because 
tile}'  can  be  printed  as  well  as  s})ol-:en,  Ijut  because,  as  a 
rule,  they  refer  to  objects,  as  in  tlie  cases  of  hiil,f(iriii, 
roaif,  and  linrse  ;  or  to  actions,  as  in  the  cases  of  coi/ir,  i^'v, 
s/op,  and  liiirrv  ;  or  Ui  'jthcr  conditions,  as  in  the  cases  ot 
Ilea?',  far,  u^i///,  and  /n\  that  can  be  seen,  and  that  are 
seen  by  imagination  wheiu.-ver  tlie  words  are  used.  Mu- 
sical tones,  on  the  contrarx',  a])])eal  to  imagination  al- 
most exclu-iveh'  as  is  done   throuuh  the  sense  of  hearin<f 


T52  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .I'lS THE  TICS 

irrespective  of  sight.  This  is  a  difference  wliich  is  radical, 
and  extremely  important.  Poetry  of  the  highest  order, 
as  we  read  it,  calls  attention  to  visible  objects.  Through 
doing  so  the  lines  transport  us  into  a  realm  of  imagina- 
tion, and  this  not  of  our  own  making,  as  in  music,  but  of 
the  poet's  making.  So  far  as  he  fails  to  lift  us  into  this 
realm,  and  to  keep  us  in  it,  his  poetry  fails  of  one  of  its 
most  important  possibilities.  Notice  in  the  following 
how  clean-cut  and  concrete  every  figure  is,  how  it  stands 
out  in  relief,  rising  visually  before  the  mind,  the  moment 
that  the  words  are  heard : 

Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory, 

And  spies  a  far-off  shore  wlicre  lie  would  tread, 

Wishing  his  foot  were  ecjual  with  his  eye. 

J  I/inry   J'I.,iii.,2:    Shakt-'ptart'. 

He  has  strangled 

His  language  in  his  tears. 

Jlnry   VIII.,  z:,  i  .-Idem. 

Jler  feet  heiieath  her  peuiii;at, 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  nut 
As  if  they  feared  the  light. 
A  Ballad  upon  a    Wedding  :    Sir  'ji'l'it  Snrklitig. 

And  the  night  shall  he  tilled  with  music, 

And  the  cares  that  infect  the  tlay 
Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 

And  as  silently  steal  awa)'. 

'J/w  Day  is  Done  :  LongfcUozu. 

This  last  stanza  is  characteristic  of  Longfellow.  Does 
the  visual  effect  of  the  st\de  give  us  one  reason  for  his 
wide  po[)ularit\' ?  (Obser\'e  now  tk.at  this  clean-cut.  con- 
crete visualisation    can   be  conjured   in    the   imagination 


VISUALISATION  IN  POETRY  I  53 

even  by  a  description  of    something   which,  in   itself,  is 
not  clean-cut  or  concrete: 

Then  saw  the)'  liow  there  ho\e  a  duhky  barge, 
Dark  a.^  a  funeral  scarf  from  stem  to  stern, 
lieneath  them  ;   and  descending,  they  were  ware 
Tliat  all  the  decks  were  dense  with  stately  forms, 
lilack-stoleil,  black-hooded,  like  a  dream, — by  these 
Three  (  ^aeens  with  crowns  of  gold. 

Alort  ifArl/nii'  :    J'ennyson. 

With  these  (-Quotations  in  mind,  let  us  examine  the 
following.  .\s  we  read  them,  are  we  not  far  more  con- 
scious of  certain  audible  sensations  of  great  delicacy  and 
sweetness  than  of  any  definite  and  distinct  pictures  rising, 
one  after  the  other,  into  consciousness;  and,  just  in 
the  degree  in  which  this  is  true,  is  it  not  a  fact  that  we 
fail  to  be  lifted  out  of  our  actual  visible  surroundings  into 
that  realm  of  the  imagination,  no  less  visible,  into  which 
it  seems  the  peculiar  function  of  poetry  of  the  highest 
order  to  transport  one? 


Kouiid  thee  IjIow,  self-pleached  deep, 
ISrainbl     roses,  faint  and  pale. 
And  long  purples  of  the  dale. 

l.et   them  rave, 
'these  ill  e\ery  show  ei'  creep 
Through  the  green  that  folds  thy  grave. 

I  ,et  them  rave. 

A  Diriic  :    Tennyson, 

I'raise  him,  ()  storm  .uid  summer-shi  ire  and  wave, 

O  skies  and  every  grave  ; 
()  weeping  hopes.  ()  mcmoiics  beyond  tears 

()  nianv  and  murmuring  \ears, 
C)  sound-  far  (.ff  in  lime  and  \isions  far 

O  soiiow   w  ii  h  th\-  -tar  ; 


154  ^^^  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS 

And  joy  witli  all  thy  beacons  ;   ye  that  mourn, 

i\nil  ye  whose  light  is  borne  ; 
O  fallen  faces,  and  O  souls  arisen, 

Praise  him  from  tomb  and  prison! 

A  Sinig  of  Italy  :  Swinhurtie. 

In  much  modern  poetry,  these  musical  effects  are 
either,  as  in  these  passages,  entirely  substituted  for  visual 
effects,  or  are  allowed  to  overbalance  the  visual  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  obscure  them.  This  is  one  reason  why 
poetry  is  so  little  read,  and  has  so  little  influence,  in  our 
own  times.  Notice  the  kind  of  representation  that,  in 
Byron's  day,  helped  to  make  almost  everybody  read 
what  he  wrote: 

"r  is  midnight.      On  the  mountains  Ijrown 
Tlie  cold  round  moon  shines  deeply  down  ; 
l)lue  roll  the  waters,  blue  the  sky 
Spreads  like  an  ocean  hung  on  high, 
Bes])angled  with  those  isles  of  light, 
So  wildly,  spiritually  bright  : 
Who  ever  gazed  upon  them  shining, 
Vnd  turned  to  earth  without  re])in!ng? 

The  Sii-gc  of  Corinth  :  Byron. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE     DIFFERENT     ARTS    AS     REI'RESEXTIXG    DIFFERENT 
PHASES  OF  MENTAL  CONCEPTION — Continued. 

Pcrsuabioii  and  Oratory — Tlie  Conditions  of  Mind  Represented  in  the  Arts 
of  Sii^ht — In  Landscape  Gardenini; — In  PaintiuL; — The  Different  Con- 
ditions Expressed  in  Poetry  and  in  Pairitint; — liearings  of  this  Pact 
ii])on  I'oetry — Tlieorv  of  I.e^sins^ — Objectiun  to  tlie  Tb.eory — Import- 
ance of  the  Theoi'y  Illustrated  in  Poetry  —  Other  I-'.\ainples — A])plied  to 
Methods  of  Poetic  Description — By  Talfourd — Ciahlte — Wordsworth 
— Tennyson — Some  Subjects  Unfit  for  I'aintings — Others — Ailcy;oricaI 
Paintings — Same  Subjects  Possil)le  to  Poetry  and  Painting,  if  Treated 
Differently  —  Painting  can  Suggest  More  Movement  than  Sculpture^ 
And,  on  Account  of  Colour,  More  Variety  in  the  Nund)er  and  Sizes  of 
Objects  ;  also  More  Minuteness  and  Tri\iality — Architecture  as  ()rigin- 
ated  —  As  Intluenced  by  Methods  of  Painting  and  of  Sculpture — De- 
terioration on  Account  of  This — Recapiiulation  with  Reference  to 
h'orms  of  Representation  in  Art>  of  Sight — ' 'orre-pondences  l)et\\een 
Architecture  and  Music — Conclusion. 

T  RT  us  i^o  back  now  to  the  illustration  of  the  man  in 
the  crowd.  After  words  have  i;'iven  expression  to 
his  sentiments,  and  other  men  hive  l^ei^un  to  express 
theirs,  lie  is  apt  to  discover  that  in  some  res^^ards  the\' 
differ  from  him.  At  first,  however,  this  feeling  is  over- 
balanced by  another.  The  man  imai^ines  that  if  he  can 
only  represent  clearly  and  forcibly  his  own  notions,  lie 
will  be  able  t(j  persuade  others  to  a^'ree  with  him.  This 
will  be  recoj^nised  to  be  the  motive  promptini^  to  oratory, 
— an  art  which  can  appropriately  be  mentioned  here, 
because  it  forms  a  connectin^^  link  l^etween   poetry  and 

155 


156  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  /KSTIfETICS. 

pai utility.  Oratory  itself,  however,  is  not  strictly  an 
.'esthetic  art,  because  mainly  directed  toward  a  useful  and 
practical  end.  Indeed,  it  usually  fails  in  case  its  repre- 
sentative features  be  too  strongly  emphasised,  /.  c,  in 
case  its  dclixxry  be  too  elocutionary,  its  rhetoric  too 
florid,  or  its  action  too  theatric. 

As  indicated  in  the  illustration  used  on  page  144,  after 
a  man  has  found  that  persuasion  is  of  little  or  no  avail, 
he  is  apt  to  stand,  for  a  moment,  gazing  at  those  whom 
he  cannot  influence  in  this  way.  This  condition  of  mind, 
if  it  be  represented  at  all,  necessitates  some  sort  of  a 
picture.  Let  us  look  at  the  facts  here  carefully.  To 
check  oneself  implies  that  one  is  no  longer  moved  as 
strongly  as  he  usually  is  in  the  moods  represented  inmusic, 
poetry,  and  oratory.  It  implies  that  the  ideas  are  related 
to  the  influence  from  without  in  the  same  way  as  the  ice 
to  the  water,  when,  in  the  illustration  given,  tb.e  ice  be- 
gins to  manifest  resistance.  The  ideas,  no  longer  now  in 
the  condition  in  which  one  uses  poetic  language, — no 
longer  swept  along  by  the  current  of  influence  in  such  a 
way  that  the  movement  of  the  current  may  be  perceived 
in  their  movements, — are  recognised  in  consciousness  as 
factors  which  resist  the  influence  from  without;  therefore 
as  factors  which,  while  they  compare  with  it,  may  be 
contrasted  with  it. 

The  art  representing  the  earliest  phase  assumed  by  the 
consciousness  of  an  external  world  as  contrasted  with 
one's  own  ideas  is  the  partly  ideal  art  of  landscape  gar- 
dening. In  a  logical  order  of  secjuence  this  art  stands 
next  to  poetry  and  oratory.  These  are  developed  from 
a  man's  power  over  himself,  over  his  own  voice  and 
limbs.  The  next  mode  of  exerting  power,  logicalh-  con- 
sidered,   is  to  touch  something  outside  of   self,   and,    in 


PA  IN  71 NG.  157 

doinf^  this,  to  begin  by  handling  nature  in  a  crude  form, 
as  it  is  used  in  landscape  gardening.  Only  later  can  one 
come  to  the  canvas,  pigments,  marbles,  and  woods  used 
in  the  plastic  arts.  It  is  hardl\-  necessary  to  point  out 
that,  with  all  the  fidelity  to  nature  that  must  be  mani- 
fested in  successful  gardening,  every  feature  revealing 
that  it  is  an  art,  is  derived  from  a  contrast,  in  spite  of 
very  much  also  that  manifests  comparison,  between  a 
field  as  presented  in  nature  and  a  park  as  planned,  ar- 
ranged, and  cultivated. 

An  analogous  fact  becomes  more  apparent  as  we  pass 
on  to  painting.  "A  higher  and  a  lower  style,"  says  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  in  his  thirteenth  "Discourse  on  Paint- 
ing," "take  their  rank  and  degree  in  proportion  as  the 
artist  departs  more  or  less  from  common  nature."  Evi- 
dent!}', according  to  this  vdew,  the  difference  in  painting 
between  high  and  ordinp.ry  art  is  revealed  in  the  contrast 
between  the  picture  and  nature.  In  passing  through  the 
mediumship  of  the  man,  that  which  came  from  nature 
has  been  changed.  I'.ach  change  has  been  wrought  by 
an  idea,  and  all  the  changes  together  indicate  a  contrast 
between  Avhat  nature  really  is  and  the  artist's  idea  of 
what  it  might  be.  Here,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 
mental  tendency  that  is  represented  in  painting,  we  have 
a  beginning  of  that  principle  of  contrast  that  enters  so 
largely  into  liie  jjainter's  success  wlien  using,  in  a  merely 
technical  way,  the  elements  of  light  and  shade  and  colour. 
(See  Chapter  X\'III.)  Wdiile  poetry,  as  in  the  pictur- 
es(|ue  language  described  on  ])ages  115  to  117^  uses  com- 
])arison  with  only  occasional  contrast,  painting  uses  both 
in  \'eiy  nearl)'  lil-ce  jjroport ions. 

'I'll is  more  extensive  i;st:  in  ;>ainting  of  contrast  might 
be  considered  of  merely  theoretic  importance,  were  it  not 


158  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  yESTHETICS. 

for  that  which  necessarily  accompanies  it.  This  is  the 
fact  that  the  natural  appearances  treated  in  painting  are, 
as  a  rule,  perceived  outride  the  mind,  whereas  those  re- 
ferred to  in  poetry  have  been  already  stored  inside  the 
mind.  Painters  and  sculptors  reproduce  scenes  or  figures 
perceived  in  the  external  world,  and  they  do  this 
through  using  an  external  medium  like  canvas  or  mar- 
ble. Poets  recall  what  they  have  heard  of  events  or  of 
men,  like  a  battle  or  a  W^ellington,  and  reproduce  this 
through  using  words.  Words  contain  not  what  is  ex- 
ternal to  the  mind,  but  what  is  in  it.  The  bearing  of 
these  facts  is  extremely  important  when  considered  in 
relation  to  the  conceptions  appropriate  for  treatment  in 
the  different  arts. 

As  applied  to  poetry,  the  facts  seem  to  rule  out  of  its 
domain  any  descriptive  details  other  than  those  of  such 
prominence  that  a  man  observing  them  might  reasonably 
be  supposed  to  have  been  able  to  retain  them  in  memory, 
— other  than  details — to  state  it  differently, — which  have 
been  stored  in  the  mind,  and  are  brought  to  consciousness 
because,  apparently,  the  most  important  factors  entering 
into  the  general  mental  effect.  In  accordance  with  this 
principle,  it  was  shown  in  Chapter  XXII.  of  the  author's 
"Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art  "  that  the  descriptions 
of  Homer  are  all  mental,  fragmentary,  specific,  and  typi- 
cal, c.  g.  : 

And  first,  .l''.iieas,  with  dffiaiit  j)iicit 

And  nodding  rasi/nr,  stood  forth.      He  hehl  /lis  skidd 

J^i'forc  him,  which  he  iL'irldfd  riglit  and  L/t, 

And  shook  liis  l)razen  s/^ear. 

Iliad.  20  :  Brran/'s  Trans. 
He  dwelt 
\\"ithii)  a  mansion  lllled  with  wealth  ;   bi-oad  Juldi 


POETRY    AA'D  PAINTING.  I  59 

Fertile  in  ('<>rii  were  liis,  and  niaiiv  rcrrs 
Of  trees  and  -rines  ai'dund  him. 

1  Had,  I ^  :  Idem, 
He  dropped  the  reins, 
Gleai?nng  1,'itl:  irory  us  t/ier  trailed  in  dust. 
Antilocluis  leaped  forward,  smiting  him 
Upon  llie  temples  with  his  sword.      He  fell 
Ciasping  amidst  the  sand,  liis  head  iiniiiersed 
I'p  to  his  shoulders — for  the  sand  \\as  deep. 

Iliad,  J  :  Idem. 
The  monareh  stripped  the  slain,  and,  leaving  them 
With  their  -ehite  loso/us  Inii-e,  went  on  to  slav. 

Iliad,  11:  Idem. 

Connected  with  this  fundamental  difference  between 
that  which  may  appropriately  be  repre.sentcd  in  poetry 
and  in  painting,  i.s  another,  "Objects  which  succeed  one 
another,  or  whose  parts  succeed  one  another  in  time," 
says  Lessing,  in  Sec.  16  of  "The  Laocoon,"  translated 
by  Frothingham,  "are  actions.  Consequently  actions  are 
the  peculiar  subjects  of  poetry.  .  .  .  Objects  which 
exist  side  by  side,  or  whose  parts  so  exist,  arc  called 
bodies.  Consequently,  bodies  with  their  visible  proper- 
ties are  the  peculiar  subjects  of  painting.  .  .  ."  And 
again  (Sec.  i(S),  "To  try  to  present  a  complete  picture  to 
the  reader  by  enumerating  in  succession  several  parts  or 
things,  which  in  nature  the  eye  necessaril}-  takes  in  at  a 
glance,  is  an  encroachment  of  the  poet  on  the  domain  of 
the  painter.  .  .  .  To  bring  together  into  one  and 
the  same  picture  two  points  of  time  necessarily  remote, 
as  Mazzuoli  does  in  the  '  Rape  of  the  .Sabine  Women,' 
and  the  reconciliation  effected  by  them  between  their 
husbands  and  relations,  is  an  eiicroaclnnent  <if  the  painter 
on  the  domain  of  the  poet." 

An  objection  to  the  theory  f)f  l.essing.  thus  stated,  is 
that   a   literal   application    of   it    st:eins   to   neccrssitate  the 


l6o  THE   RSSEXriALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

artist's  invariably  representing  in  a  story  anything  that 
is  heard  in  time,  as  well  as  invariably  representing  in  a 
jMcture  anything  that  is  seen  in  spaee,  or  that  is  received 
by  him  in  the  form  of  a  picture.  But,  as  was  shown  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  exactly  the  same  experience,  at 
different  stages  of  the  development  of  its  influence  upon 
the  mind,  can  be  appropriately  represented  through  the 
medium  of  a  ditTerent  art.  Therefore,  when  one  comes 
to  apply  the  principle  brought  out  b}-  Leasing,  he  must 
be  careful  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  question  to  be  asked 
is  not  whether  the  conception  to  be  expressed  was  de- 
rived from  a  form  appearing  in  time  or  in  space,  but 
whether,  as  it  has  affected  the  mind,  it  can  be  represented 
to  others  in  time  or  in  space. 

With  this  interpretation  of  the  theory,  no  reasonable 
objection  can  be  urged  against  it.  On  the  contrarx",  ver}- 
slight  examination,  either  of  poetry  or  of  painting,  will 
reveal  the  great  im[)ortance  of  regartling  the  princi[)le  to 
which  it  gives  expression,  h^or  instance,  in  speaking  of 
the  plan  of  his  "Excursion,"  A\'ordsworth,  in  sc\-eral 
places,  tells  us  that  his  conception  of  it  was  that  of  a 
cathc;dral  to  which  his  minor  poems  should  stand  related 
like  chapels  opening  from  the  aisles.  In  other  words,  he 
acknowledges  that  a  method  of  thought  or  expression  not 
natural  to  poetry,  but  to  another  art,  an  art.  too,  neces- 
sitating a  bod}'  filling  space,  was  present  to  his  mind 
when  considering  the  general  form  of  his  poem.  So  far  as 
this  method  had  influence,  his  motive,  therefore,  was 
that  not  of  the  poet  but  of  the  architect.  A  poem 
modelled  after  a  cathedral !  One  might  as  well  tallv  of 
a  picture  modelled  after  a  symphony,  or  a  statue  after  a 
running  stream. 

iVnalopous  criticisms  miu'ht  be  made  \\\i\\  reference  to 


POE  TR  Y    rOR  TRA  5 'I\'G  A  C  770 IV.  1 6 1 

many  other  of  our  Eni^lish  poems.  Cowper's  "Task," 
and  Thomson's  "  Seasons,"  are  modelled  apparent!}' 
upon  the  methods  of  a  man  who  is  preparing  a  set  of 
village  photographs  or  a  county  guide-book.  As  a  re- 
sult, notwithstanding  many  admirable  passages,  who  does 
not  feel  that,  considered  as  wholes,  the  poems  arc  in- 
artistic? Or,  as  contrasted  with  them,  who  does  not  feel 
that  works  like  Scott's  "Marmion,"  or  l^yron's  "Cor- 
sair," howeve:  deficient  in  passages,  ne\-ertheless,  con- 
sidered as  wholes,  are  artistic?  But  what  is  the  essential 
difference  between  the  poetry  represented  by  these  two 
classes  of  products?  Not  merely  that  the  former  are 
didactic  and  naturalistic,  and  the  latter  narrative.  The 
chief  difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  while,  ;>s  a  rule,  poets 
like  Scott  and  Byron  portray  actions  in  such  ways  that 
the  successive  events  described  keep  pace  with  the  move- 
ments of  thought,  even  if  they  do  not  lead  it  onward,  the 
other  poets  portray  actions,  if  at  all,  as  if  stopi)ing 
often,  with  pencil  in  hand,  to  sketch  in  detail,  or  explain 
and  elaborate  the  scenes  observed. 

To  recognise  this  effect  of  lack  of  movement,  notice 
the  passage  from  the  "Excursion  "  in  which  a  cathedral 
is  described  : 


Xol  rai^fil  in  nice  jiroportinns  \v:';s  the  I'ile, 

Ihit  huge  and  nia^vy,  for  (hiralinn  hiiill  ; 

With  pilhuN  (■r()\\(K-.l  ami  tlic  ro..f  ii|.h.-M 

l!y  nakeil  rafteiN  intricate!)-  ci'n--sL-(l 

l.ilxC  leane>s  unilerlii)iiL;lis  in  sonic  illicit  wonil 

All   \\ilhei-e.l  ],y  the  (leplh  ..f  shade  ah<.\r. 

A.lniMnitnry  texts  inscribe. 1  the  walk, 

I'.ach   in   il^  I  iiaiaini-ntal  -■(■i-mII   iin  h.Md  ; 

r.ach  aK'i  (  inwiu.-il  with  wiiiL^cd  heads, — a  |,:iir 

(  If  rndcly  |iainled  chciiihiin  .      The  lloor 

()f  na\c  and  ai-.|i-,   in   uniiicl  end  i  ic'   lmiI-c, 


1 62  77//-;    ESSENTIALS   OF  yl'.STHETICS. 

\Vas  occii]iie(l  l)y  onkcn  hcnclies  ranj^cd 
In  seemly  rows  ;   the  cliaiuel  niilv  showed 
Some  vain  distinctions,  marks  of  earthlv  state. 

]-'..\nirsio)i,  7'.   .•    ]\'ords-d<orih. 

ITcrc  is  another  passage  written  witli  the  motive  of  the 
painter.  llie  readers  of  it  instinctively  think  of  a  plot  of 
ground,  /.  r. ,  of  a  mindless  thing  standing  between  their 
thought  and  the  thought  of  the  writer.  They  are  not 
brought  into  immediate  communication  with  the  living 
niind  from  which  the  words  come,  and  therefore  their 
minds  are  not  addressed  directly  by  this  mind,  as,  through 
the  use  of  words,  they  should  be  addressed: 

From  the  £:,'ate 
Of  tliis  liome-featiired  inn,  wliicli  nestlint^  cleaves 
To  ils  own  shelf  anKjn;^'  the  downs,  l)eL;irt 
W  ith  trees  which  lift  no  branches  to  defy 
'i'he  fury  of  the  storm 

the  heart-soothed  guest 
\'iews  a  furze-dotted  common,  on  each  '-ide 
\\'reathe(l  into  waving;  endnences,  clothed 
Above  the  fur/.e  with  scanty  green,  in  front 
Indented  sharply  to  adndt  the  sea 
Spread  thence  in  softest  hue — to  which  a  gorge 
.Sinking  within  the  xalley's  deepening  green 
Invites  by  grassy  path. 

.till III  Bar  :    llionias  Xooii   Talfoiird. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  certain  interest,  though  some- 
times not  above  that  which  is  merely  topographic  or 
botanic,  awakened  by  minute  descriptions  of  fields  and 
flowers,  such  as  a  painter  on  the  spot  would  be  able  to 
give  while  carefully  scrutinising  these  in  order  to  depict 
them.  ]>ut  in  descriptioi^is  of  this  kind  the  external 
world  is  not  subordinated  to  the  thought  in  the  same 
way    in    which   a    scene  of    nature    is,    when    recalled    by 


POETRY    PORTRAYING   ACPIOM.  1 63 

memory.  As  contracted  with  the  last  ([uotation,  the 
reader  will  recognise  in  the  followiiiL;  a  far  more  im- 
mediate communication  of  thoui^iit  and  feeiinu;"  between 
mind  and  mind,  while,  at  the  same  time,  nothinL,^  is  de- 
scribed which  in  a  picture  could  be  an\'  more  than  sug- 
festively  represented  : 

Ilnmc  WLMit  tlif  lo\-crs  thi-i)ii_L;li  thai  l)usy  place 

\\\  l.od.ion  Hall,  llu-  fi'iuur_\'s  juiik-  and  i^racc  ; 

r>\-  the  rirh  meatlows  \\lu-ie  the  oxen  fed, 

'rhroui;h  the  i^reeii  vale  that  tunneil  the  ri\'ei-\  bed. 

And  1)V  unmnnbered  cottages  AwA  laMii> 

Tliat  ha\e  I'mi'  niusini^^  minds  unnundiered  charm-,  : 

And  IiDW  affected  hy  the  \  iew  of  these 

\\'a^  now  ()idandii? — did  they  pain  nr  please? 

Ndf  pain  ni'|-  plea'-ni'e  cinld  tlie_\-  yield  —  and  \\li\-? 

The  nund  wa.-,  fdled,  was  liapp)',  and  the  c\x- 

Roveil  i>\er  lleeting  views  that  Imt  appeared  ic  die, 

'PJh-  /(Tvv'.f  j'l'uniiY  :    (,'('<!.   Cru/i/i,'. 

This  method  of  descrii)tion,  however,  manifests  nega- 
tive rather  than  positive  excellence.  There  are  other 
passages  in  which  the  external  scene  is  nut.  its  in  this  last 
case,  sidjordinated  in  the  sense  of  hiving  certain  of  its 
details  let  alone,  but  in  the  sense  of  ha\-ing  e\-erything 
important  to  the  effect  positi\-el\-  introduced.  As  we 
read  the  following,  is  it  not  true  that  we  are  constantly 
being  made  conscious  of  thinking  moic  of  what  the  [)()ct 
tliought  than  of  what  he  saw;  and  this  bccai_ise  what  he 
saw  has  been  used,  not  for  its  own  s.ik'e,  but  to  give  form 
to  what  he'  thought?'  As  a  residt.  is  it  not  triu'  that  we 
find  certain  images  rising  up  in  iin.igination  and  siigges- 
tivel)-  tak'ing  loiin,  iiist  as  [)re\'iotisI\-  the\-  ma\-  be  su])- 
posed  to  ha\-e'  talNcii  form  in  the  mind  of  liie'  author, 
gi\'iiig  us  thus  an  ilKistiation  of   what   an  artist's  en,'ati\'e 


164  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

imai;'ination    can   do  in  the  \\i\\  of  stimulating  creativ^e 
imagination  on  the  part  of  others? 

At  my  feet 
Rented  ;i  slk-iit  sc-a  of  hoai'v  \w\>\. 
A  luindrcil  hill>  their  dusky  l)acks  upheaved 
All  i.)\'er  that  still  oeeau  ;   and  beyond, 
Far,  far  beyoiul,  the  soliil  vapours  stretclied 
In  headlands,  tonLjues,  and  pronmntory  sliapes, 
Into  tlie  main  Atlantic  that  a[>peared 
To  d\\  indie  and  i^ive  up  his  majesty, 
Usurped  upon  far  as  the  sight  couhl  reach. 

rrtluJi\  .v/r;    ll'ordsicortk. 

Notice  again,  in  the  following,  how  little  there  is  which 
a  painter  could  reproduce  wich  accuracy  ;  and  this  because 
the  motive  to  expression,  although  influenced  by  certain 
scenes  to  which  allusion  is  made,  is  not  that  of  the  painter 
but  that  of  the  poet.  The  movement  of  thought  is 
the  main  object  of  representation.  We  hear  of  a  court 
and  a  sunset;  but  we  scarcely  do  so  before  other  things 
are  so  crowded  upon  attention  as  to  obviate  at  once  any 
suggestion  of  a  desire  to  delineate  outlines  as  the_\-  appear 
in  space. 

There  rose 
A  hul;l)ul)  in  the  cnirt  of  half  the  maid-, 
(lathered  togethei-;   from  the  illumined  hall, 
Long  lanes  of  splendour  slanted  o'er  the  pros 
Of  snowy  shouldei->,  thick  as  herded  ewes, 
And  rainliow  robes  and  gems  and  gem-like  eyes. 
And  gold  and  golden  heaii>  ;    they  to  and  fro 
I'ductuated,  as  llowcrs  in  storm,  some  red,  some  pale. 
All  open-mouthed,  all  ga/ing  to  the  light, 
Some  crving  tliei'e  was  an  army  in  the  land, 
.\nd  Slime,  that  men  were  in  the  veiy  wall-. 
And  some,  thev  cared  not,  till  a  clamour  ^rew 


SUBJECTS   OF  PAINTING.  1 65 

As  of  a  new-world  JSabcl,  woiiian-lmilt, 

And  worse-con f(.)undi;d  ;   high  abcn'e  tliem  stood 

The  placid  marble  Muses  lo(jking  jieace. 

I'lw  Piincess  :    Tciuiyson. 

As  contrasted  with  poetry,  painting  and  sculpture  re- 
present not  that  which  is  inside  the  mind,  and  may  be 
recalled  in  the  order  of  time,  but  that  which  is  outside 
the  mind,  and  may  be  perceived  in  the  arrangements 
of  space.  For  this  reason,  to  ([uote  from  the  second 
of  Opie's  "Lectures  on  Design,"  "Many  interesting  pas- 
sages in  history  and  poetry  arc  incapable  of  afforcling 
more  than  a  bald  and  insipid  representation  on  canvas. 
Of  this  description  is  the  incident  in  the 'Iliad,'  where 
one  of  Priam's  younger  sons,  fallen  before  the  superior 
force  of  Achilles,  solicits  his  life  on  account  of  his  \-outh. 
'Wretch!  '  exclaims  the  furious  hero,  'dost  thou  complain 
of  dying,  when  thou  knowest  that  Achilles  must  shortly 
die;''  "  Such  incidents  as  these,  if  made  subjects  of  pic- 
tures, cannot  be  understood  \\-ithout  an  added  verbal  or 
written  description,  wdiich  is  the  same  as  to  say  th;it,  in 
any  merely  ])ictorial  product,  the}'  cannot  be  represented 
at  all.  This  fact  is  at  the  Lvisis  of  the  ad\'erse  criticism 
often  })assed  ui)on  the  endeavour,  in  a  painting,  to  "tell 
a  story."  It  is  said  that  such  paintings  are  "literar\'." 
The  criticism  is  clearly  justitled  so  far  only  as  a  painting 
does  not  tell  its  (>:,'/i  stor_\',  but  recjuires,  as  it  were, 
"literary"  aid  in  order  to  make  plain  its  meaning.  Xo 
such  aid  is  required  in  the  cases  of  paintings  like  those 
described  on  pages  i  19  to   12:;. 

Such  aid  is  alu  a\-s  required,  howi.-ver,  when  events 
taku'iig  place  at  different  times  cannot  Ije  ade([uat(,:lv  sug- 
gested by  what  is  talking  place  at  one  time;  but  must  all 
of   them  be  dc[)icted,  or  else   not    indicated.       \'\:\\   of   us; 


I66   .  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  .■KSIVfETICS. 

have  not  sclmi  old  cnijr  i\-inL;'s  in  whicli  ponicthinL;'  like  thi.s 
lias  been  attempted,  enj^ravin^s  intended  to  show  at  a 
sini;'le  L;ianee  —  althoui;h  it  recjuires  several  glances  to  dis- 
cover what  the  intention  real!}-  is — the  whole  story  of 
a  "  Pih^'rim's  ProL^'ress,"  or  of  a  "  Drunkard's  ProL,n-e5s. " 
However  interestini;",  curious,  or  instructive  these  en- 
!4"ravini;'s  may  be.  we  all  feel  that  they  sustain  much  the 
same  relatioii  to  pai!Uin<^  of  a  hiL;h  order  as  minutely 
descriptive  verses  do  to  poetry  of  a  hii;"h  order.  Those 
who  have  had  their  attention  called  to  the  orii^inal  or 
photographs  of  the  "Adoration  of  the  ?*Iagi,"  by  Ber- 
nardino Luini,  will  recall  that  besides  the  group  of  the 
Magi  in  the  foreground,  there  is  furnished  in  the  back- 
ground, a  picture  of  the  journe\-  of  these  saine  Magi  to 
the  stable.  We  see  them,  with  a  lin.e  of  heavily  laden 
horses  and  camels,  descending  a  /ig/.ag  pathway  which 
reminds  one  of  the  representation  of  a  mountain-pass 
in  a  theatre. 

It  is  ai)parent  that  in  such  })aintings  an  attempt  is 
made  to  depict  in  a  single  view  events  that  could  not 
conceivabl}-  be  actually  perceived  thus.  The  pictures, 
therefore,  are  not  representative  of  the  appearances  of 
nature.  We  must  be  careful,  however,  not  to  carry  this 
principle,  thus  brietly  st;ited,  too  far.  In  the  picture  b\- 
Delaroche  in  the  hall  for  the  distribution  of  prizes  in 
the  School  of  I'dne  ,-\rts  in  Paris,  the  figure  of  h\ame 
sits  in  the  centre,  crowning  with  laurel  seventy  figures, 
the  great  artists  of  every  land  and  age,  who  are  rejire- 
scnted  as  standing  or  seated  before  lur.  In  the  "School 
of  Athens,"  by  Raphael  ( I'ig.  22,  page  1^171,  we  see,  in 
addition  to  certaiii  great  men  of  different  periods  of  an- 
cient dreect:,  R.iphael  himself  and  his  master  Perugino. 
These  are  what  are  termed  allegorical  paintings.      'Phcic 


'  /-:>  v-^^ 


FIG-  22     SCHuOL    OF  ATHENS.^   RAFHAEL. 
See  pa-f,  i(,(.,  2  =  <;.  _>-_|,   2-5,  316. 


K'7 


1 68  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTHETICS. 

are  some  who  hold  that  all  kinds  of  allegorical  paintings 
usually  violate  the  principle  of  Lessing  because  they 
attempt  to  depict  as  appearing  at  one  time  a  collection 
of  persons  or  a  series  of  events  which  in  real  life  could  be 
perceived  only  in  succession  or  at  different  times.  Others, 
however,  not  without  reason,  defend  such  appearances  in 
a  single  picture  upon  the  ground  that,  when  the  mind  re- 
calls "Artistic  Fame  "  or  "Athens"  it  thinks  of  the  char- 
■icters  represented  not  as  existing  in  different  places  or 
periods,  but  in  that  one  conception  of  its  own  imagina- 
tion. \\  hy,  it  is  asked,  should  not  the  representation  of 
the  imagination  reveal  them  all  as  present  together? 
However  this  question  be  answered,  one  would  be  untrue 
to  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  did  he  not  acknowledge  a 
liability,  at  least,  to  confusion  in  such  paintings.  Not 
only  so,  but  it  seems  to  be  a  fact,  too,  that  those  portions 
of  an  allegoric  painting  which  are  favourites  are  less  so 
on  account  of  their  connection  with  the  whole  picture 
of  which  they  form  a  part,  than  because  they  can  be 
separated  from  it,  as  is  shown  in  so  many  copies  and 
photographs  that  are  made  of  the  group  of  the 
"Young  Pilgrims"  taken  from  Kaulbach's  "Destruction 
of  Jerusalem." 

From  what  has  been  said,  it  need  not  be  inferred  that 
painters  can  never  draw  their  subjects  from  poetry,  or 
poets  from  paiiuing.  It  need  merely  be  inferred  that 
there  should  be  a  difference  in  the  ways  in  which  the  two 
arts  treat  the  same  subject.  h'or  instance,  in  Cole's 
series  of  pictures  entitled  "The  Vo}'age  of  Life,"  and  in 
I  logarth's  series  entitled  "The  Rake's  Progress,"  each  of 
the  separate  pictures  represents  only  a  single  situation. 
\'et  all,  placed  side  by  side,  accomplish,  without  any  vio- 
lation of  the  principle  that  we  have  been   discussing,  the 


PAINTING  VERSUS  SCULPTURE.  1 69 

same  purpose  that  would  be  reached  were  the  successive 
details  unfolded  in  a  single  product. 

Just  as  poetry,  though  it  should  not  directly  represent 
space,  as  in  the  passage  quoted  on  page  162,  yet  may  indi- 
rectly suggest  it,  as  in  the  passages  on  pages  163  and  164, 
so  painting  and  sculpture  may  suggest,  though  they  should 
not  directly  represent,  time.  (See  page  317.)  Painting, 
however,  is  better  fitted  to  suggest  time  than  is  sculpture. 
This  is  so  because  painting,  as  a  rule,  can  represent  a 
larger  space  than  sculpture,— a  space  filled  with  more 
objects  and  figures  and  indicating,  therefore,  more  inter- 
change between  them  of  cause  and  effect,  which  latter 
seem  to  involve  movement.  The  effects  of  statuary  are 
produced  through  the  use  of  bulk,  /.  c,  of  outlines,  in- 
cluding those  of  length,  breadth,  and  thickness, — outlines 
that  one  can  sometimes  walk  around  and  observe  from 
every  side.  For  this  reason  sculpture  is  at  its  best  in  the 
statue,  or,  so  far  as  in  the  relief,  in  that  in  which  the 
figures  project  to  the  greatest  degree  possible.  This  con- 
dition is  represented  in  significance  by  giving  to  each 
figure,  even  of  a  group,  an  individual  rather  than  a  col- 
lective, associative,  or  communicatix'e  interest.  The  fig- 
ures depicted  in  the  frieze  surrounding  the  Parthenon, 
whether  in  the  procession  or  n(jt,  rejiresent  very  little 
interchange,  between  one  figure  and  another,  of  thought 
or  feeling.  In  tliis  regard  they  present  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent a[)pearance  fr(jm  the  figures  in  such  paintings  as 
Rubens's  "  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  (I^'ig.  I,  frontispiece), 
or  Raphael's  "Death  of  Anaiu'as  "  (h'ig.  37,  i:>age  233).  In 
the  scul[)tured  group  of  *'  \iobe  and  1  ler  Childi'en  "there 
is  n(j  interchange  of  sympath}'  :  nex'ertlieless,  because  each 
figui'e,  in  its  own  wa\',  gives  e.\prt;ssion  to  the  same  gen- 
■:ral   emotion   of  grief,    its    i)o-,iti(Ui    is   iutei'iiretiv'e  of  the 


I/O 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 


mcanin,L;  of  all  the  fii^urcs.  Or  take  a  more  marked  ex- 
ample. The  Cicrman  scholar,  Ludwi;^-  I'reller,  says  that 
the  "Apollo  Belvedere"  (Fi--.  23,  pa^e  ]  70),  or  the  statue 
after  which  this  is  modelled,  probably  stood  ori<,Mnally  on 

the  apex  of  the 
pediment  of  a  tem- 
ple at  Del|)hi,  with 
the  statue  termed 
"  Diana  of  the 
Louvre"  on  one 
side  of  it,  and  the 
statue  t  e  r  m  c  d 
''Athena  of  the 
Capital "  on  the 
other  side.  This 
would  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  the 
answer  said  to 
have  been  gix'en, 
when  the  Gauls 
a[)proache(l  Del- 
phi, tc  tlie  (]ues- 
tion  of  the   i)eople 

FIQ-  23— THE  APOLLO  BELVEDERE.  wlicthcr    tlietieas- 

See  pa;4es  170,  171,  242,  243,  2(,<).  ^,,.^,^  ^^{  ^],^.  temple 

should  be  removed.  The  answer  \\-as,  "  I  myself 
j  meaning  A[)ollo]  and  the  White  Maidens  [niL'aning 
Athena  and  Diana]  \\ill  take  caic  of  that."  Now  if 
wc  can  recall  the  appearance  of  these  statues  as  thus 
situated,  we  shall  be  able  to  coni])i-ehend  how  their 
postures,  full  of  movement  as  each  is,  should  mutually 
add  to  one  another's  interest,  and  at  the  same  time  not 
interfcM'e  at  all  with  the  stalues(pie  charactca'  of  the  effect 


STA  TUKSQUE     I'l'lRSUS   J'/C/TA'ES{HIE. 


171 


of  each.  It  is  n.otcwortlu-,  toD,  !io\v  much  more  this 
iiidi\'i(lual  interest  attaching;  to  the  iiL;aires  is  apt  to  be 
awakened  in  sculpture  tlian  in  painting!,'.  Wc  seldom  see 
in  a  picture  a  tii^ure  that  staiuls  out  fi'om  all  surrounding^ 
figures,  assertin<^  such  claims  t()  pre-eminent  and  cxclus!\-e 
attention  as  is  common  in  groujis  of  statuary.  Continu- 
ing this  line  of  thought,  we  shall  soon  recall  how  super- 
lati\-el\'  we  ha\-e  enjox'ed  certain  statues,  for  the  wry 
reason,  api)arently,  that  they  were  placed  so  that  one  could 
\-ie\v  them  apart  from  anx'thiug  else, — ^;tatues  that  stand 
in  rows,  or  in  alcox'es  by  themselves,  as  is  the  case  at 
Rome  with  the  "A[)ollo  Belvedere"  (Fig.  23,  page  170) 
and  the  "  Venus  of  the  Capital,"  and  at  hh'ankfort-on-the- 
Alain  with  the  "Ariadne."  These  facts  may  aid  us  in 
forming  a  conception  of  what  is  meant  b\'  sax'ing  that 
the  statue's  significance  is  h-ss  dependent  than  is  that 
of  a  painting  upon  the  suggestion  of  cause  and  effect  as 
o[)erating  in  time. 

But  tlu'i'e  is  yet  a  more  impoi'tant  limitation  to  the  sub- 
ject-matter in  sculpture.  This  is  owing  to  its  slight  use  of 
colour.  The  dinci'eiice  bet  w  ecu  it  and  painting  occasioned 
by  this  fact  ma}-  be  biought  out  by  recalling  the  differ- 
ence, which  all  recognise,  between  the  meaning  of  the 
teiins  /uci!/}U'S(//i('  and  slat iiiSijitc.  The  pwt iii'esqm\  as 
it  will  be  deihied  on  page  iSi,  in\()l\-es  a  cnee'ption  of 
nnuli  and  minute  \'ariet\'.  And  this  is  just  what  painting 
iinohcs.  The  Colour  that  is  u.--ed  in  it,  and  not  in  sculp- 
lure,  is  never  well  applied  imle-^s  it  iniil  r.tes  the  inlluence'S 
of  light  and  shade'  in  nature  to  such  a.  degree  as  to  cause 
--light  dilfereiici  s  at  almost  exerv  perceptible  point.  He- 
sides  this,  colour  enables  the  arli-t  to  sepaiate,  oiu-  fioni 
a.  liot  her.  and  thus  t  o  repi-e~ent  cie.n'b',  a  \'er\'  large  ninnber 
of  sni.ill  details  nio^-t  of  wliieli  would  be  indict in^Miishable 


172  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

if  ail  attempt  were  made  to  indicate  them  in  sculp- 
ture. Ill  tliis  latter  art,  landscape  is  well-nigh  im- 
possible, and  so  is  any  extensi\-e  grouping  of  figures. 
Moreover,  the  difficulty  of  the  work,  the  permanence  of 
the  material,  and  the  fact  that  the  shape,  wlien  com- 
pleted, is  to  be  the  sole  object  of  attention,  all  combine  to 
make  especially  inappropriate  the  representing  in  sculp- 
ture of  a  trivial  subject.  This  ought  to  be  dignified,  or, 
in  lieu  of  that,  at  least  a  subject  treated  in  a  dignified 
way.  For  this  reason,  notice  that,  in  a  sense  not  true  of 
painting,  it  is  appropriate  that  the  figure  delineated  in  a 
statue  should  be  represented  in  a  form  greatly  exagger- 
ated. Large  pictures,  like  those  of  West,  sometimes 
offend  us  by  their  very  size  ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive 
of  an  attractive  picture  with  figures  of  heroic  proportions. 
But  the  "Moses"  of  Angelo  or  the  "  Bavaria"  in  Munich 
does  not  offend  us.  On  the  contrary,  very  small  pictures, 
as  in  miniatures,  are  often  extremely  pleasing  and  valu- 
able. But  most  of  us  cannot  avoid  feeling,  when  we  see 
the  bronze  doors  of  the  Florence  Baptistry,  that  the  small 
size  of  the  figures  makes  the  work  expended  upon  them 
hardly  worth  while,  because  such  subjects  could  have 
been  represented  so  much  more  satisiactorily  in  pictures. 
Let  us  now  notice  the  importance  of  separating  clearly 
the  conditions  naturally  represented  in  painting  and 
sculpture  from  those  naturally  represented  in  architecture. 
When  our  race,  with  no  models  to  direct  them,  began  to 
build  houses  and  temples,  the  external  forms  of  each  were 
determined  by  the  design  for  which  it  was  constructed, — 
a  design  suggested,  as  reflection  will  show  that  it  must 
have  been,  by  the  modes  of  attaining  in  nature  ends  like 
those  of  support,  protection,  and  shelter.  This  being  the 
case,  the  desire  to  attain  these  ends  was  evident  to  every 


ARCHITECTURE    VERSUS   SCULPTURE.  1 73 

one  who  saw  the  buildincj ;  in  other  words,  the  building's 
effects  were  artistic  in  the  sense  of  being  genuinely  repre- 
sentative of  the  design  of  the  builder. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  after  many  such  structure^ 
had  been  erected,  and  some  of  them  had  come  to  be 
especially  admired  for  their  appearance,  a  class  of  artists 
arose  more  intent  to  imitate  this  appearance  than  the 
methods  in  accordance  with  which  the  older  architects 
had  designed  the  buildings  and  caused  them  to  appear  as 
they  did.  As  a  consequence,  there  came  to  be  no  appar- 
ent connection  between  the  outward  form  of  a  building 
and  that  for  which  it  was  designed;  — in  other  words, 
architecture  ceased  to  be  representative,  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  word  has  been  used  in  this  essay,  l^ut  besides 
tins,  after  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture  had  been 
developed,  architects  began  to  manifest  a  tendency  to 
imitate  the  methods,  if  not  the  api)carances,  emplo\-ed  in 
these  other  arts.  In  accounting  for  the  inferiority  of  the 
architecture  of  the  Renaissance,  Fergusson,  in  the  intro- 
duction to  his  "  History  of  Mc^dcrn  Arcliitecture,"  says: 
"  Most  of  those  who  first  practised  it,  at  the  time  the 
revolution  took  place,  were  either  amateurs,  sculptors, 
or  painters.  .  .  .  All  painters  can  make  architectural 
designs  for  the  backgrounds  of  their  pictures. 
But  if  any  one  sui)poses  that  such  a  design  will  make  a 
permanently  satisfactory  building,  he  knows  little  of  the 
demands  of  true  art." 

In  this  passage,  Fergusson  ascribes  inferiority  to  mod- 
ern architecture  as  contrasted  w  ith  medi;eval, — thougli  he 
does  not  use  this  phraseolog\-, — because  of  the  prevailing 
tendency  in  this  ai't  to  deri\e  its  methods  from  painting 
and  sculptuie  rather  than  from  the  natural  piomptings 
and  reciuireinents  of  architecture  it'-elf.      ()iie   element  of 


174 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .KSTII ETICS. 


successful  ai'chitecture  undoubtedly  is  the  mere  external 
appearance  of  a  budding.  And  }"et,  if  this  alone  be  re- 
garded, is  it  not  exident  that  the  building  \\ill  be  the 
emb<ulimcnt  of  a  moti\-e  less  legitimate  distinct i\'el\'  to 
architecture  than  to  painting,  or  to  sculpture?  .And  is  it 
not  because  of  this  confusion  of  motives  that  we  find  in 
our  modern  buildings — in  their  cornices,  roofs,  windows 
and  walls— so  much  that  is  false, — in  other  words,  so  much 
that  is  merel}-  on  the  outside,  put  there  to  look  well,  not 
to  fulfil  or  to  gi\'e  end^odiment  to  any  such  significance 
as  it  is  the  peculiar  function  of  architecture  to  represent? 
This  is  not  to  say  that,  in  this  art,  the  external  form  should 
violate  the  laws  of  proportion  or  harmony  ;  but  it  is  to 
say  that  these  latter  should  be  made  to  accord  with  the 
general  design,  to  be  manifested,  if  pos-iblc,  in  outlines 
so  disposed  as  to  indicate  this  design,  and  n<jt,  as  is  true 
in  too  many  cases,  to  conceal   it. 

To  recapitulate  now  all  that  has  been  said  with  refer- 
ence to  the  arts  of  sight,  the  worlds  of  the  landscape  gar- 
dener resemble  nature  in  almost  e\-ei-\-  feature  ;  those  of 
the  painter,  in  colour  and  outline;  those  of  the  sculptor,  in 
outline  only.  In  architecture,  the  product  resembles  na- 
ture not  even  in  outline,  except  as  it  may  be  broken  up 
and  arranged  anew.  The  painter  and  t'lie  sculptor  observe 
nature  for  the  jvarpose  of  cop}'ing  its  foi'ins  ;  the  architect, 
for  the  purpose  of  constructing  new  and  different  forms 
for  which,  as  wholes,  nature  furnishes  no  copy.  In  his 
work  that  contrast  between  tlie  product  and  nature  which 
is  mentioned  on  page  i  57  is  often  so  complete  that  the  one 
no  longer,  as  in  the  case  of  })ainting,  necessarily  suggests 
the  other.  If  tlie  forms  used  b\'  the  architect  be  beauti- 
ful, it  is  less  because— except,  of  course,  wlien  used  in  or- 
namentation— tlu.\-  are  tlie  same  in  detail  as  those  found 


ARCHITECTURE   AND   MUSIC.  1 75 

in  nature,  than  because  tlicy  ai'e  the  same  in  ])rinciple,  be- 
cause they  are  controlled  ])\'  the  same  <^renei'al  laws  that 
underlie  all  appearances  and  combinations  of  them  that 
are  naturally  pleasing. 

In  this  regard,  in  its  lack  of  tlie  imitative  clement,  and 
therefore  in  having  forms  that  recall  nature  more  by  wax 
of  association  than  of  com})arison,  ;n-cliitecture  resembles 
music. — "'frozen  music,"  as  Madame  de  Star-l  said.  It  is 
important  to  obscr\-e.  however,  tliat  the  reason  of  this 
resemblance  between  tlie  two  arts  is  owing  not  to  a  simi- 
larity in  the  factors  entering  into  the  re-ult,  but  to  a  simi- 
lar lack  of  balance  in  the  w  ay  in  ^\■hich  tlicy  are  blended. 
In  music  the  consciousness  C)f  the  niox'ing  or  emotional 
influence  is  so  strong  that,  as  Cftntrasted  ^\  itii  it,  the  mind 
is  hardly  aware  of  its  own  ideas.  In  architecture,  on  the 
contrary,  the  consciousness  of  this  influence  is  so  slight 
that  it  is  of  this  that  the  mind  is  hardly  aware.  That 
which  flows  in  the  one  art  ma}-  be  said  to  be  congealed  in 
the  other,  and  the  artistic  representation  of  each  state  of 
Cf)nsciousness  e\'inces  this.  Themedimnof  music  mo\es  ; 
that  of  architecture  stands.  Because  of  the  lack  of  bal- 
ance in  both  arts  between  the  consciousness  of  tlie  influcaice 
tliat  mo\-es  and  of  the  ideas  that  ai'e  mo\a  d,  tlie  coiniec- 
tion  b(-tween  influence  and  ideas  is  not,  in  eitlier  art,  al- 
ways ap[)arent.  Man}',  in  fact,  faiuw' that  mu>ic  represents 
no  idt.Ms,  and  that  aixdu't  (  ct  uie  repi\->Liits  notliing  e.xcejit 
ideas.  But  the  trutii  is  thai,  without  both  aits,  the  repre- 
sentatir)ns  of  tin.-  diifeieiit  pha-is  of  coii^eiousness,  (U;- 
\a:loping,  one  aftei'  aunther.  a-,  has  bcrii  .sliown,  would  be 
ineompK-te.  I  he  two  ailsaic  rxprt  s-ivc  i\',-pi'cti\al\-  of 
the  two  (.■xti'euus  of  tlii^.---oi  tho-,.'  mi-^ty  bordri'daiuls  of 
ap])rehen-^ion  wjicrc  tiic  irMilt~,ot  that  whicli  influences 
consciousness  appear  and  wlii  re    lli    \-  disappear. 


1/6  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTHETICS. 

Taken  together,  all  the  arts  that  have  been  mentioned 
represent  every  possible  effect  produced  in  the  mind  as 
emotion,  intellect,  and  will  successively  receive  and  mod- 
ify the  influence  that  the  audible  or  visible  forms  of  nature 
exert  upon  them.  The  expressional  series  is  complete  all 
the  Avay  from  where,  in  music,  we  heed  the  roaring  of  the 
waves  of  influence  as  they  dash  upon  apprehension,  to 
where,  in  architecture,  we  perceive  the  spray  that  con- 
geals in  fairy  shapes  above  the  place  where  their  force 
has  been  spent. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DIFFERENCES  IX  THE  SAME  ART   AS    REFRESEXTIXC;    DIF- 
FERENT de(;rees  of  coxscious  or  suncox- 

SCIOUS    MEXTAE   ACTION'. 

Tlie  lialance  V)etween  Influence  upon  tlie  Conscious  and  Suliconsciou - 
Mind — Reliijious,  Scientific,  and  Artistic  ConceiMions — l-lxjiressed  in 
Idealism,  Realism,  and  Idealised  Realism— In  the  Cood,  True,  and 
lieautiful  ;  the  Sublime,  Picturesque,  and  Brilliant  ;  the  Crand, 
Simple,  and  Striking — The  Sublime — Illustrations — The  I'icturesijue — 
Tlie  Brilliant — Distinction  between  the  I'eautifnl  and  the  Brilliant 
— The  Cirand  as  Allied  to  the  Horrible — 'l"he  Simple  to  the  Pathetic 
— The  Striking;  to  the  ^'i(llent— True  in  All  the  Arts— The  Epic — 
The  Realistic— The  Dramatic — Aim  of  I-'pic-Recital — Of  Realistic — 
Of  Dramatic — Epic  Art-Products — Realistic — Historic — The  Historic 
Distinguished  from  the  Dramatic — Dramatic  I'nclry  :  Lyrics — Drama- 
tic Character-Painting — (Av/z-t'  Painting — Dramatic  I'ainting  Proper — 
Historic  Distinguished  from  Dramatic  Sculpture — Practical  Object  of 
These  I  )istincti()iis. 

W/  I'>  have  found  that  the  peculiarities  of  the  conccp. 

tions  respective!}'  represented  in  each  of  the  arts 
are  attributable  to  tlie  different  de^i^rees  in  which  tlie  mind 
isindtienced  from  within  or  from  without.  There  arc  also 
different  decrees  in  which  the  mind,  whether  influenced 
from  within  or  from  witlxnit,  is  stimulated  to  exeixise 
what,  in  Chapter  III.,  were  termed  its  consciotis  or  its 
sid)cr)nscious  powers.  In  this  chapter  it  is  to  be  siiown 
tliat,  in  tiach  art,  there  are  certain  sid)di\'isions  determined 
by  the  rclatixa^  intluenee  exerted  upon  conception  from 
the  one  or  the  other  of  these  sotirces. 

177 


178  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTHETICS. 

According  to  what  was  said  in  Chapter  III.,  there  arc 
tlircc  different  general  methods  of  forming  conceptions. 
These  are  the  religions  method,  in  which  subconscious 
intellection  is  supreme;  the  scioitific,  in  which  conscious 
intellection  is  supreme  ;  and  the  artistic,  in  whicli  neither 
is  supreme,  but  sometimes  the  subconscious  acts  the 
more  strong]}-,  sometimes  the  con?ci(~)Us,  and  sometimes 
the  effect  of  the  one  exactly  balances  that  of  the 
other.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  in  artistic  concep- 
tions at  times  that  tendency  which  is  charactei'istic  of  the 
religious  may  be  the  more  prominent  ;  and,  at  other 
times,  that  tendencx'  which  is  characteristic  of  the  scien- 
tific ;  and  that,  therefore,  aside  from  the  tendency  which, 
as  characteristic  of  an  even  balance  between  the  two  forms 
of  intellection,  is  in  the  highest  sense  artistic,  two  other 
tendencies  may  also  be  artistic,  one  of  wdiich,  without 
crossing  the  boundaries  of  art,  inclines^  nevertheless, 
toward  religion,  and  the  other  toward  science. 

Here  we  have  suggested  three  divisions  of  artistic  repre- 
sentation. The\-  may  be  termed  respective!}-  the  .  cligious- 
artistic,  the  scientific-artistic,  and  the  artistic-artistic. 
The  three  respective!}-  gixe  rise  to  three  different  classes 
of  expressiona!  results.  These  are  apparently  produced, 
in  the  first  class,  from  behind  tlic  form  ;  in  tlie  second,  i)i 
the  form  ;  and  in  the  third,  t/irough,  -icitli,  or  by  tlie  form. 
Religious-artistic  expression,  whicli  is  tliat  of  tlie  first 
class,  seems  to  he  spontaneous,  and  comparati\"el}-  free 
from  any  conscious  endea\-our  to  limit  or  fit  tlie  subject- 
matter  to  the  form  of  representation.  Scientific-artistic 
expression,  whicli  is  tliat  of  the  second  class,  seems  to  be 
under  tlie  iniluence  of  that  wliicli  would  accurately  meas- 
ure the  subject-matter  and  accomiiKxlate  it  to  the  form. 
^■Irtisticartistic  expression,  wdiicli  is  that  of  the  third  class, 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF    ART-SIGNIFICANCE.         lyg 

seems  aimed  to  emphasise  the  subject-matter  through  em- 
phasising also  the  forms,  and  causing  it  to  transfigure 
them.  The  first  tendency,  in  conforming  the  repre- 
sentation to  the  idea  within,  naturally  gives  expression 
to  that  which  is  termed  idealism  ;  the  second,  in  conform- 
ing the  representation  to  the  real  conditions  without, 
naturally  gives  expression  to  realism  ;  and  the  third,  in 
conformirig  the  representation  to  the  blending  of  these 
two  other  tendencies,  naturally  gives  expression  to  what 
may  be  termed  idealised  realism. 

The  respective  tendencies  thus  distinguished  \\\\\  enable 
us  to  classify,  and,  sufficiently  for  our  purpose,  to  define 
certain  terms  with  which  e\-ery  one  is  more  or  less  fa- 
miliar. Three  of  these  terms,  all  of  which  seem  to  be 
determined  chiefly  by  the  relation  of  the  result  to  the 
reli^i^'ious  or  spiritual  tendency,  because  they  are  mainix' 
attributable  to  the  source  or  subject-matter  of  the  ex- 
pression, are  the  ^vod.  allied  to  the  religious;  the  lr//e, 
allied  to  the  scientific  ;  and  the  beautiful,  allied  to  the 
artistic.  Three  more  terms,  all  of  which  seem  to  be  de- 
termined chieily  b}'  the  relation  of  the  result  to  the  seieu- 
ti lie  tendency,  because  they  are  mainly  attiibutable  to  the 
nature  of  the  expression  when  the  subject-matter  comes 
in  contact  with  fr)rm,  are  the  suhliuie,  allied  to  the  re- 
ligious ;  the  pnl uresque,  allied  to  tlie  scientific  ;  and  the 
brillia)il,  allitd  to  the  artistic.  Thrt-e  remaining  terms, 
all  of  wliicli  seem  to  be  determined  cliiefly  by  the  relation 
of  the  etfect  to  tlie  artistic  tendenc}',  because  the\'  are 
mainly  attributable  to  the  expressional  result  when  the 
subject-matter  has  passed  through  the  form  and  is  ex- 
erting an  influence  on  the  man  who  contemjilates  it,  are 
tile  jj^raiid,  alh'id  to  the  reh'-ious  ;  \\\q.  simf^le — called  thus 
because   not    elaboiMted   or   changed   es^entiall}'  fiom  th.e 


l8o  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

condition  in  Avhich  it  is  presented  in  nature, — which  is 
allied  to  the  scientific  ;  and  the  striking,  allied  to  the 
artistic. 

Upon  thinking  over  the  characteristics  indicated  b\' 
these  terms,  no  one  will  have  difficulty  in  recognising  the 
reason  why  the  subject-matter  of  religious-artistic  ex 
pression  should  be  termed  distinctively  the  good ;  or  why 
the  subject-matter  of  scientific-artistic  expression,  which 
is  concerned  chiefly  in  causing  the  forms  of  art  to  be 
accurate  representations  of  the  forms  or  laws  of  nature, 
should  be  termed  distinctively  t/ie  true  ;  or  why  the  sub- 
ject-matter of  artistic-artistic  expression,  as  the  very 
term  artistic  suggests,  should  be  termed  distinctively  the 
beautiful.  Nor  need  there  be  difficulty  in  recognising 
the  appropriateness  of  the  terms  that  have  been  used  to 
designate  the  effect  of  the  expression  where  it  comes  into 
contact  with  the  form.  The  religious-artistic  tendency,  of 
course,  must  be  that  which  is  most  spiritual  and  intangi- 
ble, the  most  nearh'  allied  to  the  infinite,  eternal,  and  ab- 
solute essence  or  force  lying  behind  the  material  forms 
supposed  to  embody  it.  A  moment's  reflection  will  show 
us  that  this  same  tendency  can  al\va\-s  be  affirmed  of  an 
expression  which  we  term  sublime.  The  sublime  conve\-s 
an  impression  of  a  conception  too  disproportionately 
large  to  be  distinctly  embodied  in  a  material  form  or  even 
to  be  entirely  grasped  by  human  apprehension.  Here, 
for  instance,  is  Milton's  celebrated  description  of  Satan, 
so  often  used  as  an  illustration  of  this  sentiment  : 

I  II-  aliove  the  rest, 
111  shape  and  gesture  proudlv'  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  tower  :   his  form  had  not  vet  lost 
All  her  original  l)riL;htne>s,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  arch-anijel  ruined,  and  the  excess 


THE    SUBLIME   AND    PICTURESQUE.  l8l 

Of  glory  ol).scured  ;  as  when  tlie  sun,  new  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizcn*"al  misty  air. 
Shorn  of  his  beams  ;   or  from  behind  tlie  moon 
In  dim  ecbpse  disastrous  twiliglit  sheds 
On  half  the  nations  ;  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs. 

Paradise  Lost,  i. 

A  similar  v^agucness  is  cliaracteristic  of  Michael  An- 
gel</.s  picture  of  "  The  Last  Judgment,"  as  well  as  of  his 
statue  of  "  Moses,"  whose  colossal  proportions  and  divine 
mien  are  suggestive  of  far  more  spiritual  breadth  of  force 
than  can  fitly  be  contracted  within  the  limits  of  a  human 
figure.  "  In  the  sublime,"  says  Edmund  Burke,  in  his 
"  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful,"  "  the  mind  is 
hurried  out  of  itself  by  a  crowd  of  great  and  confirsed 
images,  which  affect  because  they  are  crowdtxl  and  C(mi- 
fused  ;  for  sei)arate  them,  and  }'ou  lose  much  of  the 
greatness;  and  join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose  the 
clearness." 

When  the  subject  of  artistic  conception  becomes  en- 
tirelv  comprehensible  and  tangible,  it  passes  to  the  method 
of  expression  Vv'hich  has  been  termed  scientific-artistic. 
Science  deals  with  facts  as  they  are  ;  and  the  scientific 
tentlency  in  art  re[)resents  thoughts,  sights,  (jr  events  with 
literal  fidelitx'.  It  does  not  labourto  rearrange  them  so  as 
to  make  them  conform  to  some  ideal  standard  either  in 
the  mind  or  out  of  it.  To  quote  from  Sir  William  Ham- 
ilton in  his  "  Lectures  on  Metaph)'sics  "  :  "  Variety,  even 
apart  fiom  unity,  is  ])lcasing;  and  if  the  mind  be  made 
content  to  expatiate  freely  and  easily  in  this  variety  with-. 
r)ut  attempting  painfully  tr)  reduce  it  to  unity,  it  \\\\\  de- 
rive no  incon^iderabU:  ])leasure  from  the  exeition  of  its 
powcM's.  Now  tin,-  piit i(res(iiic  object  is  prcci-^cly  of  sucli 
a  chai'actei-."      The  following,  for  instance,  is  [)ictui  esque  ; 


1 82  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

and  if  it  were  represented  in  a  painting,  or  in  architecture, 
as  it  might  easily  be,  it  would,  of  course,  furnish  an  illus- 
tration of  the  picturesque  in  these  arts  also  : 

And  me  tliat  mrtrniiiL;  Walter  showed  tlie  liDUse, 

Greek,  set  with  busts  ;  fri)ni  \ases  in  the  liall 

flowers  of  all  heavens,  and  lovelier  than  their  names, 

drew  side  by  side  ;  and  on  the  ]ia\enient  lay 

Carved  stones  of  the  abbey-ruin  in  the  jiark, 

IIuL;e  Ammonites,  and  the  first  bones  uf    Time. 

And  on  the  taldes  e\ery  elime  and  a^e 

Jumbled  together  ;  eelts  and  ealumets, 

Clavniore  and  snow-shoe,  toys  in  la\a,  fans 

Of  sandal,  amber,  ancient  rosaries. 

Laborious  Orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere, 

The  cursed  Malayan  crease,  and  liatlle-clubs 

From  the  isles  of  jialm  ;  and  higher  on  the  walls 

iietwixt  the  monstrous  horns  of  elk  and  deer 

ilis  own  forefathers'  arms  and  armour  hung. 

The  Princess  :  Teimvson. 

When  the  subject  of  conception  cornes  to  be  expressed 
in  form,  the  artistic  impulse  to  rearrange  and  to  re- 
shape is  sometimes  so  strong  as  virtiuill)'  to  transfigure 
the  form.  This  condition  gives  rise  to  the  brilliant.  In 
the  sublime,  the  subjects  represented  seem  too  large  or 
grand  for  the  form  ;  in  \\\<^  picturisquc,  they  seem  exactly 
reproduced  in  the  form  ;  in  the  brilliant,  they  seem  en- 
hanced in  value  by  the  form,  or,  as  we  might  sa\-,  the 
form  seems  too  large  for  them.  The  effect  in  the  last  case 
is  like  that  of  ]:)lacing  a  lens  before  a  picture.  The  brill- 
iant is  characterised,  th.erefore,  by  the  opposite  of  \-agiie- 
ness,  i.e.,  by  luminosity;  by  a  luminosit}-,  too,  which  gives 
not  only  light,  shade,  and  colour,  but  outlines  also  that 
often  seem  greatly  magnified.  Of  cotu'se,  in  the  brilliant, 
the  subject-matter  may  be  of  importance,  but  this  is  not 
necessary.      The  following  passage  derives  its  artistic  value 


TJIE   BRIIJJANT.  1 83 

from  subordinate  considerations  added  to  the  principal 
subject-matter  in  order  to  enhance  the  brilliancy  of  the 
presentati(^n  : 

I  MWv  youiiL;  IIai'r\  , — with  liis  licax'tr  011, 

His  cuisscs  on  his  thiglis,  gallantly  arm'd, — 

ivise  from  the  i^ruund  like  fcathcr'd  ML-rcui)', 

And  vaidtcd  with  such  ease  into  his  seat. 

As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 

To  turn  and  wind  a  hery  ['egasiis, 

And  witch  the  \\orl(l  with  iiohle  hor^emanshi]). 

/  //i  iti  y  /  r.,  ir.,  I :   SLak-ipcar-:. 

By  classifx'in;^  the  bril/iaiit  rather  than  the  beautiful  as 
the  distinctive!}'  artistic  tendcncv'  of  the  same  im[)ulse 
wliich,  considered  in  relation  to  the  ^i^^cwd,  causes  the  sub- 
liniL,  one  escapes  from  such  a  criticisni  as  is  made  b\' 
Chai<^net  in  his  "  Les  Pi'incipes  de  la  Science  du  Beau  " 
upcjn  the  inclination  manifested  by  most  writers  to  sepa- 
rate the  std^hme  altogether  from  the  beautiful.  He  fur- 
nishes a  very  striking  illustration  of  the  close  comiection 
between  the  two  by  using  thi'ee  sticcessi\-e  cpiotations. 
One  is  from  Jouffroy.  In  this,  in  order  to  show  the  dif- 
ference between  the  effects  of  two  work's  of  art,  the 
wi'iter  sa\-s  tliat,  in  gazing  at  the  ^\ol[)lo,  }'ou  recognise  that 
\-ou  experience  tlie  pleasure  of  the  beautiful  ;  whereas 
in  gazing  at  the  Laoco<')n,  "you  experience  the  emotions 
of  the  subhme."  The  next  (juoiaLi(m  is  from  Lessing, 
wlio  declares  in  iiis  "  I.aocoijn  "  tliat  one  experiences 
tlie  sensation  of  beauty  in  that  statue;  and  tlie  thii'd  is 
fi'om  WMnckelmann,  wlio  saws  in  his  "  History  ot  Ancient 
yXrt  "  tliat  one  expei'iences  the  sensation  of  the  sublime  in 
the  face  of  the  Apollo.  When  doctors  dis.igrre  thus 
thrrc  ni'.ist  be  a  good    reason  for  it.      "  Thei'efoi-c,"  ai^iies 


1 84  THE   ESSEX riALS   OF  ..-ESTHETICS. 

Cl:aignct,  "  the  sublime  is  not  different  from  the  beautiful, 
only  one  department  of  it." 

There  is  no  need  of  illustration  to  show  the  general  con- 
nection between  the  snbliinc  and  the^<,'77?;/c/,  \.\\q: picturesque 
and  the  simple,  or  the  brilliant  and  the  striking:  It  may 
be  of  interest,  however,  to  show  the  connection  between 
the  first  two  and  the  expression  of  the  non-pleasurable  as 
in  the  liorriblc,  c.  g.  : 

What  may  this  mean 
'I'liat  tht>u,  dread  corse,  again,  in  complete  :?teel, 
]\e\isitest  thus  the  glimpses  of  tlie  moon, 
Making  night  liideous  ;   and  we,  fools  of  nature. 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  tlisposition 
With  th'iughts  l)eyontl  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 
Say,  why  is  this  ? 

JIaiNict,  !.,  ^  :    Siuikisf'earc. 

Also    between    the  picturesque,    or    t)ie    simple,    and    the 
pathetic,  e.  g:  : 

She  lived  unknown,  and  lew  could  know 

^\'hen  Lucy  ceased  to  lie  ; 
lUit  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  O 

'J'iie  difference  to  me  1 

7"//i'  Eosi  J.oT'C  :    Wordsworth. 

As  well    as    between    the  brilliant,   ov  the  striking,  and 
the  violent,  e.  g.  : 

All  the  cnntagion  of  the  south  light  on  you. 

You  ^~hames  of  Rome  1      \'ou  herd  of —      lioils  and  jilagues 

Plaster  vuu  o'er  ;   that  you  ma_\'  lie  abhorred 

Fartlier  than  seen,  and  one  infect  another 

Against  the  \\  ind  a  mile  I 

Corioi'iUiKS,  !.,  y  .•   S'lakrspoaro. 

Whether  manifested  in  music,  painting,  sculpture,  or 
architecture  ^\•c  all  associate  the  sublime,  the  grand,  and 
the  horrible  with  more  or  less  of  the  same  sort  of  vague- 
ness in  rlu'thm,  ineludy,  harmoii}-,  colour,  or  outline  which 


THE    GRAND,    SIMPLE,    STRIKING.  185 

in  poetry  has  been  shown  to  suggest  something  beyond 
the  possibihty  of  exact  formuhition.  In  the  same  art- 
methods,  too,  we  associate  the  picturesque,  the  simple, 
and  \.\\(i pathetic  w  ith  tliat  which  is  normal  in  effect,  often 
in  the  sense  of  being  exactly  imitated  from  nature  ;  and 
we  associate  the  brilliant,  the  striking;  and  the  violent 
with  runs  and  chords  in  wliich  each  note,  amid  difficulties 
overcome  by  skill,  rings  out  with  exceptional  distinctness; 
with  Colours,  the  exact  hues  of  which,  amid  similar  difiFi- 
culties,  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  ;  and  with  outlines 
which,  notwithstanding  ecpial  obstacles,  stand  out  in  cor- 
respondingly bold  relief. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  religious  tendency  in  ail  leads 
to  the  representation  of  the  go<>(i,  the  sul^linie,  and  the 
gra)id.  A  moment's  tliouglit  \\\\\  enable  many  of  us  to 
recall  that  these  are  exactly  the  characteristics  most  dis- 
tinctive of  ^\■hat  is  termed  epic  art,  a  well-known  definition 
of  which  is  that  of  lilair  in  his  "  Rhetoric,"  nameU',  "  the 
illustrating  of  some  great  and  general  idea."  This  might 
be  improved  by  saying  that  it  is  the  illustrating  of  a  great 
idea  or  spiiitual  principle,  through  forms  typical  of  the 
general  effect  of  its  intluence. 

It  has  been  said,  too,  that  the  scientific-artistic  tendency 
emphasises  the  connection  between  the  tiling  signified  and 
the  form.  Of  course,  the  practical  efiect  is  great  accuracy 
in  the  delineation,  all  the  details  of  natural  ap[)earancc:,  in 
the  order  iA  successi()n  and  oi  interact!'  )n,  l.)eing,  in  a  sense 
not  true  in  epic  art,  nc-cessary  to  the  desired  result.  This 
we  find  to  be  the  condition  in  what  niax'be  called  realistic 
art — the  art  not  necessarily  of  that  wliicll  is  te-rmed  real- 
ism, but  the  art  which  has  tlie  gciier.d  tendency  of  real- 
ism, and  nia\'  be  denned  as  tlu;  cK  lineat  ing  of  riiateri<il 
and  mental  effects   in  lininan  and   n(jii-hunian  life  exactly 


1 86  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .-KSTJI ElICS. 

as,  on  tlie  surfiice,  they  a})pcar  to  be.  The  term  historic 
has  sometimes  been  applied  to  this  form  of  art,  but  it  is 
narrower  in  its  meaning,  and  accurateh'  distinguishes  only 
one  subdivision  of  the  form. 

Once  more,  it  has  been  said  that  the  artistic-artistic  tend- 
ency emphasises  the  "  form  signifying."  This  is  the  char- 
acteristic of  dramatic  art,  which  accepts  the  influence  of 
the  subject-matter  only  after  this  has  taken  possession 
of  a  particular  medium  of  exi)rcssion  and  transfigured 
it,  producing  thus  a  result,  as  will  be  noticed,  exactly  the 
opposite  of  the  religious-artistic  tendency.  Instead  of 
gi\-ing  supremacy  to  the  general  and  indefinite,  of  which 
the  form  is  t}-pical,  the  dramatic  emphasises  the  special 
and  definite,  thus  enlarging  the  attractiveness  and  import- 
ance of  the  form  itself,  furnishing 

— ti)  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

MidsuinnuT  Xis^Iii's  Dream,  v.,   i:    Sha'cvapcarr. 

In  contrast  t(^  the  epic  and  the  realistic,  tlie  dramatic  ma}' 
be  defined  as  the  impersonating  of  indi\-idual  character- 
istics as  affected  by  considerations  iiifluencing  them  from 
within  and  from  without.  It  will  be  noticed  that  the  defini- 
tion is  broad  enough  to  include  dramatic  effects  as  pro- 
duced in  ami  b}-  not  onl\'  human  forms,  but  also  those  that 
are  non-human. 

These  definitions  of  the  three  main  di\-isions  of  art-form 
differ  in  phrase(jlog\',  but  correspond  in  essentials  to  the 
same  as  recognised  many  times  beftire.  Thus,  Fuseli,  in 
the  third  of  his  "  Lectures  on  Art,"  sa\'s  that,  "  in  the  epic, 
act  and  agent  are  subordinate  to  the  maxim  ;  and  in  pure 
history'' — what  has  here  been  termed  the  realistic — "  are 
mere  orgaiisof  tlie  fact  ;  but  the  drama  subordiutites  both 
fact  and  maxini  to  the  ai/ert,  his  character  and  i)assion." 


THE   EPIC.  187 

The  distinction  between  tlie  three  and  also  tlie  natural 
order  of  sequence,  as  related  to  one  another,  may  be  better 
understood,  perhaps,  through  an  illustration.  Suppose 
that  one  be  inox'ed  to  tell  a  stoi'v.  That  which  first 
prompts  him  to  do  so  is  some  thought,  usually  a  general 
impression,  which  strikes  him  in  connection  with  certain 
transactions  that  he  has  witnessed  or  heard  ;  and  because 
the  impression  remains,  he  tells  the  story  in  such  a  way  as 
to  coiu'cy  to  his  hearers  an  impression  similar  to  his  own. 
His  whole  object  in  the  recital,  though  he  may  not  be 
conscious  of  it,  is  to  make  clear  the  impression,  or,  as  we 
sometimes  sa\',  the  moral,  tlie  poi)it  that  has  interested 
him,  and  so  long  as  he  does  this,  he  cares  little  about  ac- 
curac}'  in  all  the  details.  Now  this  is  the  conditi(^n  requi- 
site to  the  epic  form  of  art,  and,  as  all  of  us  will  probably 
recognise,  this  is  the  condition  of  the  method  most  natu- 
rally adopted  by  tliose  who  gain  the  reputation  of  being 
good  stor}--tellers.  Therefore  it  seems  api)roi)riate  that  the 
Greeks,  talcing  their  term  from  a  word  meaning  stor}-, 
should  have  named  this  form,  par  r.xctilciiic,  the  epic,  or 
story- style. 

]hit  there  is  another  way  in  wliich  one  may  recall  the 
same  transactions.  After  rellecting  upon  tliem  a  little,  he 
may  begin  to  anaU'se  the  diffd'eiit  dcL'ds  or  words  of  the 
person  implicated,  and  to  asic  himself,  \\'\\y  did  this  one 
do  this  or  sa\'  that?  The-ie  iclhclions  will  lead  him  to 
tliiidc  more  particular!)-  of  the  (k:tail>  of  tin:  transactions 
and  sayings,  and  of  each  of  tliem  in  tin,-  ordca' of  its  occur- 
rence. \\'lu;n,  after  such  a  consideration,  he  comes  to  tell 
the  slor_\-,  altiiough  possihl)-  he'  may  not  ue'giect  to  bi'iiig 
out  that  wliich  at  first  seemed  to  him  to  jje  its  "[)oint," 
lievcM'theless  this  will  appear  subordinate  to  tlu-  accurac\' 
with    which    he    relates  the  details    themselx'es    and    their 


1 88  THE   ESSEA'TIALS   OF  yESTIIETICS. 

intcracticMi.  In  other  words,  his  desire  to  be  true  to  the  facts 
in  their  order  of  sequence — /.  c,  to  the  scientific-artistic 
tendency — will  realise  the  condition  requisite  to  what  has 
been  termed  realistic  art ;  and  with  reference  to  this,  it  is 
evident  that  vhile  such  a  mode  of  recital  may  render  a 
story  far  less  interesting  as  a  mere  story,  it  will  render  it  far 
more  satisfactory  to  a  consideration  purelx'  intellectual  and 
analytic. 

Once  more,  there  is  a  third  way  of  telling  the  story. 
After  anal}'sing  the  different  words  and  deeds  of  the  per- 
sons engaged  in  the  transactions,  a  man  may  become  con- 
scious of  forming  definite  conclusions  with  reference  to  the 
motives  and  characters  of  these  persons,  and,  as  a  result  of 
his  conclusions,  he  may  be  joyous  or  otherwise,  accortling 
to  the  degree  in  which  the  events  h.u'e  })leased  or  grieved 
him.  At  this  stage,  he  will  l.)e  prompted  to  express  his 
pleasure  or  grief;  i.c\,  his  emoti(^<ns.  and,  while  doing  so, 
in  ortler  to  manifest  his  reasons  antl  enforce  their  reason- 
ableness on  others,  he  will  be  led  instincti\'ely  to  imitate 
the  expressions  or  appearances  <jf  the  chai'acters  to  whom 
he  is  referring.  This  gives  us  the  condition  re([uisite  to 
dramatic  art — from  the  word  draiiiarc,  to  act.  In  this 
form,  the  stor\'  is  told,  not  with  supreme  reference  to  the 
t>oitit  or  moral,  as  in  the  epic,  or  to  the  details  ov  /acts,  as 
in  the  realistic,  but  to  the  effects  produced  upon  thought 
or  feeling,  and  to  the  way  in  wliich  they  can  be  represented 
in  actioji. 

Among  epic  jn-oducts  we  may  place  not  onl\'  the  dis- 
tinctively e[)ic  p()ems  of  the  wwrld,  like  Homer's  "Iliad." 
Virgil's"  ^-Eneid,"  and  Milton's  "  Paradise  Lost";  or  dis 
tinctively  epic  sculpture,  like  the  "Moses"  of  Michael 
Angelo  ;  or  epic  painting,  like  the  same  artist's  representa- 
tion in  the  Sistine  Chapel  at  Rome  of  the  whole  liistory  of 


EPIC  PRODUCTS.  189 

creation  together  with  tlie  fall  of  Adam,  the  deluge,  the 
Old  Testament  dispensation,  and  the  coming  of  the  Re- 
deemer and  his  final  separation  of  the  good  from  the  e\'il 
in  the  Last  Judgment.  We  may  place  here,  also,  main' 
symbplic  and  alleogrical  poems,  like  the  "  Faerie  Ouccne  " 
of  Spenser;  many  pictures  of  the  same  kind,  like  the 
"  Poetry,"  "  Science  "  or  "  Destiaiction  of  Jerusalem,"  b\' 
Kaulbach;  and  man}'  statues,  like  the  "  Bavaria"'  at  Munich. 
Among  realistic  i)roducts,  we  may  place  non-epic  nar- 
ratives like  some  of  the  ancient  ballads,  "The  Canterbury 
Tales  "  of  Chaucer,  or  "  The  l^orough  "  of  Crabbe  ;  also  de- 
scriptive poems  li]<e  Goldsmith's  "  Deserted  Village"  or 
15urns's  "Cotter's  Saturtlay  Night ";  and  even  didactic 
poems,  when  including,  as  the\'  usuallx'  i\o,  like  Words- 
worth's "  Rxcui'sion"  and  Campbell's  "Pleasures  of  Ho[)e," 
narrati\-es  or  description.  Here,  too,  we  ma\'  place 
the  majority  of  landscapes  and  figuic-paintings  that  are 
mainly  imilative,  like  those  of  Teiners  or  Meissonier' 
and  here,  tO(j,  that  great  and  imi)oi"tant  class  of  pictures 
and  statues  that  goes  by  the  name   of  Jiisioric. 

In  order  to  illu>ti'ate  precisely  wliat  an  historic  painting 
is,  Mr.  Long,  in  his  "Art,  Ls  Laws  and  the  Reasons  foi 
Them,"  spo'aks  of  Sir  Josliua  Re\-nolds's  "  Poi'trait  of 
I'dliott,"  the  I^ritish  commander  at  (iibi-aller  in  the  year 
when  it  w;is  attacked  by  the  CDmbiiied  I-"renc-h  and  Spanish 
forces.  "The  j);iinter's  design  w.is  not  sim[ily  to  give  a 
portrait  of  Mi".  I'Llliott,  but  of  Ceiieral  I'~Jliott  ;  not  onl\- 
tliat,  but  rif  the  succ(.:ssful  deteiuler  of  (libialtai' upon  that 
occasion.  He  has  then-fore  rt'pi'eseiited  him  in  his  mili- 
tai\-  costume,  and  liolding  in  his  ImikL'  a  ke\',  in  s\-mboJic 
allusion  to  the  fact  of  that  cilacUTs  bt-iug  the  key  to  the 
AL'diteri'aiiean.  In  the  (li>t. uue  m,i\-  be  seen  the  two 
scpiadrc^ns    at    tlic    nioinenl    of  battle,  ;'.'ul    l.iehind   him    a 


190  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

cannon  pointed  downwards  to  show  the  loftiness  of  the 
fortress, — all  which  surroundings  connect  him  with  that 
transaction,  and  thus  make  the  representation  a  good 
illustration  of  historic  portraiture.  I^ut  to  define  moi'e 
particularly  the  class  under  consideration,  it  may  be 
proper  to  state  that  the  painter  of  pure  histor\-  does  not, 
like  the  dramatic  painter,  represent  that  which  might  be. 
but  that  which  was  or  is."  Fuseli,  in  his  third  "  Lecture  on 
Painting"  gives  a  still  clearer  description  of  historic  art: 
"  Fiction  now  ceases,  and  in\'cntion  consists  only  in  select- 
ing and  fixing  with  dignity,  precision,  and  sentiment  the 
movements  of  reality.  Suppose  that  the  artist  choose  the 
death  of  Germanicus, — he  is  not  to  give  us  the  highest  im- 
ages of  general  grief  which  impress  the  features  of  a  people 
or  a  family  at  the  death  of  a  beloved  chief  or  father,  for  this 
would  be  epic  imager}-;  we  should  have  Achilles,  Ilectoi-, 
Xiobe.  He  is  not  to  mix  up  character  which  obscr\-ati(^n 
and  comparison  have  pointed  out  to  him  as  the  fittest  to 
excite  the  gradations  of  sym[)athy;  not  Admetus  and 
Alceste,  not  Melcager  and  Atalanta  ;  for  this  w()uld  be 
the  drama.  He  is  to  gi\'e  us  the  idea  of  a  Roman  d}-ing 
amidst  Romans,  as  tradition  gave  him,  with  all  the  real 
modifications  of  time  and  place  which  may  ser\'e  unequix'o- 
cally  to  discriminate  that  moment  of  grief  {\-o\w  all  others." 
From  what  has  been  said,  it  will  be  e\-ident  that  to  dis- 
tinguish historic  from  dramatic  painting  is  in  some  cases 
extremely  difficult.  Nor  can  it  be  tloue  at  all  exce[)t  b_\- 
first  deciding  what  is  the  predominating  uKTtive  that  the 
picture  exhibits.  When  we  look",  foi- instance,  at  some  of 
the  products  of  the  Dutch  ScliO(d,  at  a  ])icture,  sa\-.  of 
Tcniers,  or  at  some  of  the  work  of  a  painter  like  J.  V .  Millet 
(Fig.  5,  page  61,  and  Fig.  7,  p.igeQi'i,  wc  find  much  that 
si;i:"gests  the   dramatic.     But  when    we  seek  for  the  pre- 


THE   HISTORIC  AND   DRAMATIC.  19I 

d(iminating  motive  of  the  artist,  \vc  recognise  that  it  must 
have  been  to  picture  the  hfe  of  the  peasant  as  he  really  saw 
it ;  and  this  leads  us  to  class  his  work  as  realistic.  On  the 
contrary,  when  we  look  at  a  picture  like  Piloti's  "  Death  of 
\Vallenstein"or  Gcronie's  "  Pol  lice  Verso"  (Fig.  4,  page  41), 
it  suggests,  at  first,  only  the  historic;  }-ct  the  predominat- 
ing moti\-e  of  the  artist  was  so  evidently  to  portray  char- 
acter as  emotively  affected  by  certain  specific  ex'cnts  that, 
as  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare's  historic  plays,  we  can  call 
the  paintings  historic  in  only  the  sense  of  being  historico- 
dramatic. 

Among  the  products  of  dramatic  art,  Ave  may  place  not 
only  plays  intended  to  lie  acted,  but  also  poems  like  "  The 
Ring  and  the  Book,"  b}-  Robert  l^rowning,  or  "Aurora 
Leigh,"  by  Mrs.  Browning,  which,  with  primary  reference 
to  dramatic  effect  in  the  portrayal  of  situation  or  char- 
acter, relate  a  tale  or  report  a  seiies  of  conx'crsations. 
Here,  too,  belongs  the  lyric  when  at  its  best.  In  this  case 
it  produces  the  effect  of  a  dramatic  Sf)lilo(]uy,  si)eech,  or 
story,  e.  g.: 

( )  k-t  the  solid  t^roimd 

\"(il   fail  liniL-alh  in)-  fui-t, 
iScfure  my  life  lias  found 

What  some  lia\-c  found  so  >\\iHi  ! 

Mil II J:    'J'l'iinysoii. 

I    am  tlic  daiiL;litcr  of  earth  and  ih'-  walor, 

■|dio  nursling;  of  tin-  -kv, 
I   p:i^^  tlii-ou-h   llu-  pore-  of  tlic-  .irran  :ind  sh..rcs, 
I   I  haiiL^o,   liiil    I   caiiiu't  die. 

'/■//■  (  'loiiil:  ShtUr-  . 

'•'  ()   M;irv,   l;o  and  cail  llie  ratlle  liome. 
And  .all   Ihe  rattle  home, 
And   call   the  cattle  hoinc 
A(  ross  the  sail.;-  o'  I  )ee  !  " 


192  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dank  wi'  fnani, 
And  all  aliine  ^\■l-■nt  slie. 

('  J/</;r,  Go  and  Call  tlic  Caitlr  Home  :    Kin-rsley. 

The  object  of  dramatic  painting  is  to  reveal  the  effects 
upon  particular  characters  or  temperaments  of  particular 
occurrences  or  surroundings.  As  in  dramatic  poetry,  so  in 
this  kind  of  painting,  all  should  be  definite  and  vigorous, 
if  not  brilliaiit  and  striking.  W'e  place  first  here  what  ma\' 
be  called  c]iaractcr-pai)iti)ig.  The  most  typical  form  of 
this  seems  to  be  exemplified  in  that  popular  phase  of  art 
represented  by  "  The  Beggar  Bo\-s  "  of  Murillo.  But  por- 
traits, too,  are  often  so  composed  as  to  come  strictly  within 
this  class.  Kugler,  in  his  "  Ilandbuch  der  Kunstge- 
schichte,"  says  of  the  portraits  of  Titian's  daughter, 
Lavinia:  "One  of  the  finest  is  in  the  Berlin  Museum. 
Here  the  beautiful  and  splendidly  attired  girl  is  holding 
up  a  plate  of  fruit.''  "Another"  is  "in  the  possession  of 
Lord  De  Gray,  where,  instead  of  fruit,  she  is  holding 
up  a  jewel-casket.  A  fourth  is  in  the  Madrid  Gallery, 
but  here  it  becomes  an  historical  representation;  it  is  the 
daughter  of  Herodias."  No  one  needs  to  have  explained 
why  portraits  like  this  can  be  said  to  be  portraits  in 
c  liar  act  cr. 

There  are  some  paintings — not  all— of  the  class  usually 
called  genre  which  seem  to  be  dramatic.  What  other  word 
can  describe  pictures  like  "  The  Card  Pla}-ers,"  by  Cara\-ag- 
gio  (  Fig.  18,  page  122  j?  In  this,  we  see  cards  and  money 
Oil  a  table.  Seated  on  one  side  of  this  is  a  man  with  a  dis- 
honest face.  On  the  other  side,  pla\-ingwith  him,  is  a  man 
with  an  innocent  face,  e\-idently  just  the  one  to  be  made  a 
dupe,  l^ehind  this  last  man,  looking  o\'er  his  shoulder^ 
stands  a  third,  muffling  his  breath  to  prevent  his  presence 
from  being  detected,  and  holding  up  two  fingers  to  let  the 


THE   DRAMATIC.  1 93 

first  player  know  wliat  cards  arc  being  played  by  the 
second. 

The  dramatic  proper  in  painting,  as  in  poetry,  sometimes 
differs  from  the  historic  in  only  the  degree  in  which  the 
historic  features  are  subordinated.  For  instance,  though 
suggested  by  historic  facts,  the  "  Rape  of  the  Sabines,"  and 
"The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery,"  by  Poussin  (Fig.  36, 
page  231  ),  "  The  Descent  from  the  Cross"  (  Fig.  i ,  Frontis- 
piece), "  The  Crucifixion,"  and,  more  unmistakably,  "  The 
Lion  Hunt,  "  by  Rubens,  arc  dramatic  rather  tiian  historic. 
So  are  the  greater  works  of  Raphael, — even  those  so  appar- 
ently historic  as  "  The  Vision  of  Constantinc,"  "The  Burn- 
ing of  I^orgo,"  "  The  Death  of  Ananias"  (Fig.  37,  page  233), 
and  "The  Defeat  of  Attila."  This  is  so,  because  the  de- 
sign in  them  is  to  represent  not  general  ideas,  as  in  epic 
art,  but  specific  persons;  and  not  the  literal  facts  with  ref- 
erence to  these  persons  as  in  historic  art,  but  certain  con- 
ditions indicative  of  their  characters.  As  Fuseli  says,  in 
the  third  of  his  "  Lectures  on  P.iinting":  "...  Leo, 
with  his  train,  calmly  facing  Attila,  or  deciding  on  his  tri- 
bunal the  fate  of  captive  Saracens,  tell  us  by  their  presence 
that  they  arc  the  heroes  of  the  drama,  that  the  action  has 
been  contrived  for  them,  is  suboi'dinate  to  them,  and  has 
been  coni[)osed  to  illustrate  their  character." 

Tcj  distinguish  between  historic  and  dramatic  sculpture 
is  hard))'  necessary.  All  will  recf^gnise  the  one  in  the  or- 
dinaiy  Ijust  and  statue  erected  to  commemorate  some  per- 
son who  has  actually-  li\"ed,  and  the  other  in  such  a  prothict 
as  the  LaocoiMi  (  h"ig.  19,  page  123)  or  tlie  so-c.dled  D\-iag 
Cladiator.  There  ai'c  de\-eiopments  analogous  to  those  of 
tin:  e[)ie,  the  realistic,  and  thedrainatic  in  both  music  and 
architectui-e.  lint  they  arc  not  ordinarily  noticetl;  and  to 
point  tluin  out  here  would  ta]-;e  up  too  much  s])ace.   'Ihey 


194  T^^E   ESSENTIALS   OF  .-ESTHETICS. 

are  treated   in  Chapters   XX.  and   XXI.  of  the  author's 
"The  Representative  Significance  of  Form." 

One  thought  more,  however,  may  be  in  place  before 
closing  this  chapter.  Some  reader  may  be  prompted  to 
ask  whether  the  distinctions  between  the  epic, the  realistic, 
and  the  dramatic  that  have  been  made  are  really  necessary; 
whether  they  have  any  practical  bearing.  The  answer  to 
this  is  that  everything  has  a  practical  bearing  in  art  which 
tends  to  cause  a  product  to  convey  an  impression  of  unity, 
in  accordance  with  the  principles  to  be  brought  out  in 
Chapter  XIV.  An  art-product  that  is  neither  distinctly 
epic,  realistic,  nor  dramatic  is  lacking  in  definiteness 
of  effect — not  in  definiteness  of  thought,  which  is  not 
always  desirable  (see  page  115V  Any  lack  of  definite- 
ness of  effect  is  usually  felt  to  be  inartistic.  Wholly 
satisfactory  results  can  be  attained  by  the  artist  in 
only  the  degree  in  which,  throughout  his  work,  he  con- 
fines himself  to  one  of  the  three  general  methods  of  pre- 
sentation that  have  here  been  differentiated. 


CIIAI'TER  XII. 

RKPRESEXTATIOX    IX    THE    ELEMEXTS    C)E   YORM  IX    THE 
ARTS  OF    SOUXD. 

Recapitulation — X'ecessity  of  Studying  tlie  Elements  of  Representation — 
Especially  as  Produced  through  the  V(jcal  Organs  and  Hands — In 
tile  Arts  of  ]-',l()cution  and  (iesture — Meanings  of  the  Elements  of 
Sound  in  Elocution — Duration  Representing  Mental  Measurement  in 
Music — In  I'lietry — Eorce  Representing  Mental  Energy  in  Music — ■ 
In  Poetry — Pitch  Representing  Mental  Aim  or  M(jtive — Directions  of 
Pitch  in  Elocution — Principle  Further  Illustrated — Different  Meanings 
of  the  Same  Phraseology  when  Differently  Intoned — The  Same  Prin- 
ciple l-'uUille<l  in  Music — In  Mixlern  Melodies — Other  Illustrations — 
In  Poetry — Illustrations — Quality  Representing  Mental  I'eelings — In 
Elocution — Analogies  in  X'ature — in  Music — In  Imitative  Music — 
Different  Qualities  in  Music — In  Poetry;  Imitative  Effects — Associative 
Effects. 

TTAVING  considered  the  general  form  of  mental  coi> 
ception  naturally  represented  in  each  art,  and  the 
effect  in  each  of  representing^  different  de^^recs  of  balance 
between  that  which  is  due  to  subconscious  and  to  conscious 
mental  action,  we  are  now  prepared  to  confine  our  atten- 
tion to  form.  In  doing  this,  it  will  be  logical  to  start  with 
that  A\hich  is  most  internal  in  the  form,  and  to  end  with 
that  wiiich  is  most  external;  in  other  words,  to  notice,  first, 
the  representative  contents  of  the  form,  and,  later,  the 
representing  composition. 

As  w(dia\-e  di<co\-ered,art  is  the  i-epi-c>cntat  ion  of  a  man's 
thoughts  and  emotions  through  a  u^e  of  the  [)henomena  of 

195 


196  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ANESTHETICS. 

nature.  What  is  to  be  said  in  this  chapter  has  been 
suggested  by  the  very  evident  fact  that  no  representation 
of  this  kind  would  be  possible  unless  the  elements  of 
which  each  art  is  composed  were  themselves  representative 
both  of  mind,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  material  nature 
upon  the  other;  nor  unless  they  were  representative  of 
these  in  a  way  so  unmistakable  that  ordinary  consideration 
could  recognise  the  fact.  What  are  these  elements,  and 
of  what  may  the}-  be  said  to  be  representative  ?  Let  us 
answer  these  questions. 

In  doing  so,  let  us  start  by  recalling  the  statement  made 
in  Chapter  I.,  name!y,  that  all  forms  of  expression  possible 
to  art  of  the  highest  rank  are  developments  of  a  man's 
use,  for  this  purpose,  of  his  vocal  organs  and  of  his  hands. 
This  statement  at  once  suggests  an  inquiry  into  the 
methods  through  which  vocal  organs  and  hands  can  be 
made  to  express,  or  represent,  thoughts  and  emotions. 
Evidently,  only  after  we  have  ascertained  this,  can  we  be 
prepared  to  understand  how  the  same  can  be  expressed  in 
the  arts  developed  from  these  methods. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  argue  that  the  best  way  of  carry- 
ing on  the  inquir\'  just  indicated  is  to  go  at  once  to  the 
arts  of  elocution  and  of  gesture.  In  the  former,  special 
study  has  been  made  of  expression  through  the  use  of  the 
vocal  organs,  and  in  the  latter  of  the  same  through  the  use 
of  the  hands,  primarily,  and,  secondarily,  of  the  whole 
body. 

In  its  use  of  the  vocal  organs,  elocution  has  the  power  of 
producing,  through  the  intonation  of  words,  irrespective 
of  their  articulation,  an  almost  eridless  \-ariety  of  effects; 
and  the  argument  is  logically  irresistible  that  these  effects 
are  the  same  in  kind  as  are  those  of  music  and  poetry. 
What,  then,  are  the  elements  of  elocutionary  effect.^     We 


EXPRESSION  IN  ELOCUTION.  1 97 

shall  find  four  of  these.  They  can  all  be  perceived  by 
emphasising  strongly  the  first  syllables  of  barbarous,  mur- 
mjirinf^,  tartarize,  Siugsing,  or  papa,  or  by  emphasising  a 
word  like  ^''6'  in  the  sentence"!  \vill^i;-(9  if  so."  In  giving  the 
emphasis,  it  \\'ill  be  noticed  that  the  emphatic  s}-llables 
and  the  word  go  are  made  to  differ  from  that  which  ac- 
com[)anies  them  first,  in  duration:  they  are  sounded  in 
longer  time  ;  second,  \\\  force:  they  are  sounded  with  more 
energy;  third,  in  pitcli;  they  are  sounded  on  a  key  which, 
if  used  in  music,  would  be  relatively  higher  or  lower  in 
the  musical  scale;  fouith,  in  quality:  they  are  sounded  with 
more  fulness  or  thinness  of  tone.  Sim[)ly  by  increasing 
the  degree  in  whicli  an\'  of  these  elements  enter  into 
ordinary  accentuation,  we  can  increase  the  degree  of 
emphasis  represen.ted  by  them. 

What  do  these  elements  represent  ? — and,  first,  what 
does  duration  represent?  What  is  indicated  by  fast  time, 
;ind  by  slow  time?  Evidently  these,  respecti\ely,  imitate 
effects  in  nature  that  move  rapidly  and  slowl}-.  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  by  way  of  association,  ra})idity  is  indicative 
of  moods  that  are  joyous  or  viirthjul;  or,  as  a[)j)lied  to 
s[)ecial  tlnjughts  or  feelings,  of  such  as  st;em  deserx'ing  of 
oidy  brief  consideration  because  they  are  light  or  tripling. 
Slozuncss,  on  the  contrary,  is  indicative  of  grave  and 
serious  moods,  of  thoughts  and  feelings  \s-ortliy  of  !<  mg  con- 
sideration; therefore,  of  moods  of  dignity  and  iinportanee. 
In  other  words,  dur.ition  represents  t\\c  /nental est imate,  or 
degree  of  I'aluation.  What  has  been  said  hard])-  needs 
illustration.  ICvei'y  one  can  recall  the  general  tlifference  in 
rapidity  between  ordinar)'  dance-music,  as  it  is  termed,  and 
church  music;  or  between  a  hornpipe-  and  a  h\-mn;  and  he 
Iciiows,  too,  tliat  tin's  diffei'L-nce  is  detei'niined  not  alone  b)' 
the  necessity  of  conforming  the   music  to  actual  outward 


198  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

movements,  as  in  tlic  dance,  but  also  by  the  fact  that  the 
dance  and  the  hornpipe  represent,  by  way  of  associationi 
joyous,  viirthful,  light,  trtjiing  moods,  and  that  the  church 
music  and  the  hymn  represent  the  opposite. 

Precisely  the  same  principles  are  fulfilled  in  poetry. 
The  following  represents  a  galloping  movement  : 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  and  Joris,  and  he; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three. 

IIi>7C'  They  Brought  th'r  Good  Xi7i<s :  Browning. 

And  the  following  a  painfully  slow  movement: 

I'"irst  march  the  heavy  mules  securely  slow  ; 

O'er  hills,  o'er  dales,  o'er  crags,  o'er  rocks  they  go. 

Pope  s    Tr.  of  the  Iliad. 

This  indicates  a  jo}'ous,  light  mood: 

My  eyes,  how  I  love  vou. 

You  sweet  little  dove  you. 

There  's  no  (jne  above  you. 

Most  beautiful  Kitty. 

Kitty:  Anon. 

And  this  a  matter  of  seriousness  and  importance  : 

Wiiere  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Eh'gy  in  a  Country  Church  -  Yard:  Gray. 

Passing  on  now  "io  force,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  de- 
termining what  it  means,  through  observing  the  mani- 
festations of  it  in  nattire.  Great  force,  of  course,  represents 
that  which,  in  nature,  has  a  loud  sound,  or  is  so  vast 
in  size  that  its  sound,  if  [produced,  would  be  expected  to 
be  loud;  and  slight  force  indicates  that  which  has  a  soft 
sound,  or  is  so  i^wc?// that  its  sound,  if  produced,  would  be 
expected  to  be  soft.  Besides  this,  ^;7y?/  foree,  involving 
loudness  of  tone,  indicates  great  energy,  either  of  body 
or  of  mind  ;  as  in  expressions  of  earnestness,  strengtJi,  self- 
assertion,     vehenienee.     For    an    analogous    reason,    slight 


FORCE  IN  ELOCUTION.  1 99 

fcrcc,  involving  softness  of  tone,  indicates  the  opposite,  /.  c, 
little  energy,  as  in  expressions  of  iiulifference,  zveakness, 
gentleness,  mildness.  Force  may  thus  be  said  to  represent 
the  meiital  energy.  It  is  in  fulfihnent  of  these  principles 
that  Haydn  imitates,  as  one  may  say,  the  roaring  of  a 
storm  in  the  chorus  in  '*  The  Creation,"  beginning  "  The 
Lord  devoureth  them  all  ";  and  Wagner  the  singing  of  a 
bird  in  the  forest  scene  in  "Siegfried."  It  is  in  fulfilment 
of  the  same,  that  a  "march"  is  loud  and  rousing,  and  a 
"  cradle-song  "  soft  and  soothing. 

Similar  forceful  cfTects  are  produced  in  poetry  through 
the  use  either  of  series  of  long  syllables,  e.  g.: 

When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast,  weight  to  throw, 
The  line  too  labors,  and  the  words  ni<.)\e  slow. 

Essiiv  oil  Criiii  ism  :  Pope. 

Or  of  strongly  marked  accents,  e.  g.: 

Louder,  louder  chant   the  lay; 
Waken   lords   and  ladies  gay! 

1/ Hilling  Soiii^:  Siott. 

And  weak  effects  through  series  of  short  sxdlablcs,  e.  g.: 

Then  wc  let  off  paper  crackers,  each   of   whicli  contained  a  motto. 
And  she  listened  while  I  read  them,  till  her  mother  told  her  not  to. 

I-\iilinaiido  and  J-Ji'ira:  Gilbert . 

Or  of  weak  accents,  e.  g.  : 

So  he  with  diflicidty  and  laliour  hard 
Moved  on   with  difricidt)-  and  lalxuii'  he. 

ParadiiC  Lo.d,  2  :  Milton. 

In  accordance  with  the  principle  of  correspondence,  the 
conditions  of  pitch  high  or  low,  or  its  movements  in 
directions  upward  or  downward  in  the  musical  scale, 
seem  to  be  in  exact  analogy  with  correlated  conditions 
and  directions  with  which  wc  are  all  familiar  in  the  ex- 
ternal world  of  sjjace  about  us  ;  and,  like  them,  to  indicate 
the    mental   aim   (jr    motive.      W'licn,    fur   instance,    one  is 


200  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

elated,  he  holds  hi.s  head  high,  and  his  movements  are 
varied  like  those  of  a  buoyant  schoolboy.  W'hen  one  is 
depressed,  his  head  bends  downward  and  his  movements 
are  few.  It  is  the  same  with  the  utterances.  A  soaring 
bird  sings  in  a  high  and  changing  key,  a  crouching  man 
threatens,  or  a  dog  growls  in  a  low  and  monotonous  ke)-. 
High  and  \"aried  tones,  therefore,  seem  to  represent  ela- 
tion of  spirit,  or  that  which  is  felt  to  be  elevating  in  its 
influence  ;  and  low  and  uniform  tones  represent  depression 
of  spirit,  or  that  which  is  felt  to  be  im[)ressivc. 

The  same  is  true  with  reference  to  movements  in  the 
directions  of  pitch.  Its  tendency,  when  two  or  more 
tones  at  different  pitch  are  heard  in  succession  may  be 
upward  or  downward,  or  b(^th  upward  and  downward. 
In  the  last  case,  as  in  the  circumflex  inflection,  there  is 
merelv  a  combination  of  the  meanings  in  the  other  two 
cases,  and  we  need  not  consider  it  here.  (See  the  author's 
"Orator's  ]\Ianual,"  p[).  56-59.)  When  directed  upward  or 
downward,  pitch  follows  laws  applicable  to  all  mo\-emcnt. 
Men  lift  their  bodies,  limbs,  and  feet,  when  the\-  start  to 
do  something.  They  let  their  hands  fall  at  tlieir  sides 
and  sit  down  or  lie  down,  when  they  get  through  with 
what  they  ha\-e  to  do.  The  lungs  rise  in  inspiration  and 
fall  in  expiration.  So  with  voices  in  speaking.  Their 
sounds  rise  when  a  man  feels  inspired  to  begin  to  say 
something,  c.  g.,  "If  so,  I  will  go."  They  fall  when  the 
inspiration  is  over,  because  he  has  ended  saxMug  this,  r.  ^i/".. 
"  If  so,  I  will  go."  In  other  words.  u[)wai-d  and  downward 
movements  of  pitch  represent  the  moital  Diotivc.  The 
voice  rises  when  one  is  moved  to  open,  and  falls  when 
mr>ved  to  close,  the  expre-^sion  of  an  idea.  It  mu.st  be 
b!)rne  in  mind,  howe\-i;r,  that  these  directions  of  pitch 
depend  upon  the  relations  of  utterance  to  the  sense,  and 


IXFLF.CTIONS  I.\   ELOCUTION:  201 

not  merely  to  the  sentence.  If  the  sense  does  not  close 
or  open  where  the  sentence  does,  the  tones  ma\' fall  before 
its  close  and  rise  at  its  q.w(\.  e.  g.,  "  I  will  go,  if  so,"  "  Will 
\ou  go?"    No,  I  will  not,  if  he's  there." 

WV-niay  extend,  and,  at  the  same  time,  explain  this  by 
sa}'ing  that  the  voice  rises  for  the  purpose  of  opening  or 
broaching  WW  idea;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  oi  point- 
ing atcay  from  the  thought  immediately  expressed,  i.  c, 
when  one  is  inclined  to  consider  the  utterances  merely 
cxnlicipat'irc  or  iudecisi^'c,  in  the  sense  of  being  in  them- 
'^ii\\<:^  subordinate,  insignificant,  trite,  negative,  or  question- 
able, as  C(/ntrasted  with  something  that  is  expected  to 
be,  or  that  has  been,  exjiressed  by  the  falling  inflection. 
On  the  contrai'y,  the  \"oice  falls  for  the  purpose  of  closing 
or  eoNipteting  an  idea  ;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  purpose  of 
/'(^v'//////^'- /'6' the  thought  immediately  expressed,  /.  e.,  when 
one  is  inclined  to  consider  the  utterances  cone/usii'c  or 
decisive,  in  tlie  sense  of  being  in  themseK'es  interesting, 
important,  noteioortJiy,  affirniative,  or  positive.  It  falls 
whenever  it  gives  its  sentence  in  the  sense  either  of 
ha\-ing  completed  the  expression  of  a  sentiment  or  of 
ha\-ing  uttered  something  sententiou>I\-. 

In  order  to  recogm'se  the  degree  in  which,  e\-en  in 
speech,  intelligence  of  the  niotix'es  that  are  directing  the 
thoughts  ox  feelings  may  be  cou\-e\-ed  by  methods  other 
than  by  the  mere  articulations  Vv'hich  cause  the  sounds 
to  be  woicls,  notice,  in  the  following  examples,  how  the 
same  phraseology  may  l)e  made  to  con\ey  entirely  dider- 
cnt  meanings.  "  We  all  kiii  )W  his  wc'u'd  is  a  little  uncer- 
tain," indicates  the  trite,  the  well  known.  "  We  all  know 
his  woi'd  is  a  little  uiuertain,"  indicates  tiie  noteworthy, 
the  inipoitant.  "There  is  a  p;ith  through  the  w<iods 
here,"     indicates    indeci.-^ion     in    \iew    of    the    doubtful. 


202 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 


"There  is  a  path  through  the  Avoods  here,"  indicates  de- 
cision in  \'ie\v  of  what  is  not  considered  doubtful.  "It 
must  be  so,"  indicates  the  questionable  -,  "  It  miist  be  so," 
indicates  positive  assurance.  "He  declaims  very  well/' 
gives  questionable  praise  to  the  mediocre;  "  He  declaims 
v^ery  well,"  positively  commends  the  excellent.  "John 
has  returned  home,"  questions  the  action,  or  produces 
the  effect  of  disapprobation;  '''John  has  returned  home," 
af^rms  the  action,  and  often  expresses  approbation  of  it. 

That  similar  principles  apply  to  the  movements  of 
pitch  in  the  melody  of  music,  we  might  infer  as  a  result 
of  considering  the  subject  theoretically.  But  we  can  not 
only  infer  it,  but  perceive  it  as  a  result  of  a  practical  stud}' 
of  facts.  Notice  the  following  text,  which  was  con- 
nected with  the  notation  of  the  Gregorian  chants,  written 
in  the  sixth  centurv: 


\ 1^-  I      — 0 — 


Sic  can  -  ta  C(im-iiia.      sic    du  -  o  jtuiic-la:      sic    vc  -  I'o  luincliiiii. 
Tliussiiiglliecoin-uia,     and  tiius  tlie  cu-lon:    and  Uius  tlie  lull  Blop. 


ii 


Sic  si^rnuni    in  -  ter   -   ro  -  u^a  -  ti  -  o  -  nis. 
Tlius  siuir  tlie  mark  of       iu  -  tcr  -  ro  -  ira-tiou. 


It  is  now  acknowledged  that,  historical!}',  all  our  mod- 
ern European  s}'stems  of  mclod}-,  and,  through  them,  of 
harmon}-,  have  grown  out  of  these  chants,  or  at  least  have 
come  down  to  us  through  them.  Could  a  stronger  proof 
be  afforded  that  music  is  a  de\X'lopment  of  that  which  in 
its  incipienc}-  is  representative  ?  These  chants  to  which, 
or  throu"h  which,  all  modern  music  is  traceable,  were  de- 


REPRESENTATION  IN  Mf'SIC. 


203 


libcratcly  comptxscd  in  order  to  be  rc{)rcscntativc,  and 
nothing  else. 

The  representative  eharacter  of  the  movements  of  musi- 
cal pitch  is  well-nigh  equally  manifested  in  modern  melo- 
dies. Except  where  the  significance  of  these  depends 
upon  their  connection  with  harmony,  and,  therefore,  ne- 
cessitates the  application  of  a  different  principle,  it  will  be 
found  that  almost  always  in  the  degree  in  which  they 
commend  themselves  to  general  taste  to  such  an  extent  as 
to  continue  to  preserve  their  popularity,  in  that  degree 
they  parallel  the  movements  natural  to  the  speaking 
utterance  of  the  sentiments  to  which  they  give  expression. 
See  the  music  on  page  82. 

As  an  illustration  of  pitch  used  in  order  to  indicate 
actual  upward  movements  in  nature,  notice  how  Wagner 
in  "  The  Reingold"  represents  Erda,  the  mother  of  earth, 
as  with  her  daughters,  the  Nornes,  she  comes  up  from 
below  : 


and  later  how  she  sinks  downward  again  : 


"ii- 


Notice:,  too,  the  upward  mo\-cincnt  in  the  "(Jucstion  to 
Fate,"  in  Wagner's  "'  W'alkiirc  ": 


Z^^_-b;=iJ 


m^ 


And  the  cf)nchisiv(;    effect    of   the  downward  movement 


204 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 


in  what  is  called  the  "  Shmiber  I\roti\'c,"  suggesting  rest 
from  hibour,  in  the  same  opera: 


* — « 

-# — ' #- 


It  might  be  supposed  that  there  would  be  nothing  in 
poetic  form  corresponding  to  tliese  upward  and  down- 
ward movements.  But,  as  a  fact,  any  metre  causing  a 
line  to  begin  with  an  unaccented  syllable,  or  to  end  with 
an  accented  syllable,  produces,  in  what  are  termed  the 
tunes  of  verse. — unless,  as  .sometimes,  the  sense  requires 
a  different  inflection, — the  effect  of  an  upward  move- 
ment. Therefore,  this  metre  naturally  suggests  the  a)i- 
ticipativc,  i)idccisivi\  subordinate,  qjicsiioiiable  effect  of  the 
the  upward  inflection.  <-.  g.  : 

AmniiL;  tiie  fancies  tell  me  thi>, 
What  is  ll\e  tliini^  we  call  a  ki>s  ? 
I  irhall  resohe  ye  what  it  is. 

The  A'iss  :  A'.   //,  ;-;■/.  /•. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  line  beginning  with  an  accented, 
or  ending  M'ith  an  unaccented  s\-llable,  jjroduces  the  Jl/id/, 
decisive,  interesting,  important,  apyirmative  effect  of  the 
downward  mo\'ement    or  inflection,  e.  g.: 

I.uve  he  comes  and  I.ove  lie  tarries, 
Just  as  fate  or  fancy  carries, — 
Longest  stays  when  sore--t  chiihlen, 
Laughs  and  flies  when  pressed  and  hidden. 

T/ic  First  A'/ss  ■  Cainpbetl. 

Come  in  the  evening,  or  come  in  the  morning  ; 
Come  when  you'  re  looked  for,  or  cnnie  without  warning  ; 

TJu   U'clcoi},.:  ■   y.    Fa-zis. 


PITCH  AND    QUALITY. 


205 


In  this  connection,  notice  the  following  like  effects 
of  pitch  shown  in  the  melody  both  of  the  music  and 
of  the  verse. 

Lines  with  falling  or  feminine  endings.  With  rising  or  masculine  endings. 


ailiHlillslg 


HiiH 


(    Zi  -  on  stands  with  liil'is;  surromulerl,  Zi    -  on,     kejit    witli  power      di   -     vine;   ) 

(    All  Iter  JiifS  shall  be  con-.bund-ed,        Tliougli  the    world    in     arms      com  -  bine  ;   ) 


rSii=S=q=«; 


lilllMiillifiiliil 


■#■•    -*■    :g:       :g:       ig: 

Vv'hat    a  fav-ored     lot  is        thine; 

— 19-'- — 0 


m 


mwm 


lot  is        thine. 


Let  us  now  ask  what  is  represented,  either  in  elocution, 
music,  or  poetr\',  b\-  qualiiy  of  tone.  It  ccrtainK'  is  not, 
as  in  tlie  case  of  force,  mental  ener<4"y.  When  a  Patti 
passes  from  a  loud  to  a  soft,  or  from  an  abrupt  to  a 
smooth  tone,  she  changes  greatly  the  kind  of  eiieigx',  but 
her  v<iice  still  retains  tlie  same  Patli-quality.  Xor  does 
(|uality  represent  mere  inte-llectuality.  A  man,  without 
ciianging  in  the  least  an  liabilu.d  nasal  or  wliee/.ing  ([ualit\-, 
ma\'  gi\'e-  ev'ery  iiiflectinn  nce'de'd  in  order  to  rt:present  the 
mei-el\'  mental  ph,ist:s  of  the  motive  that  act  uatt:s  him.  but 
if  we  frighten   him  severely,  we  ma\-  make   it  impossible 


2o6  THE   ESSEXTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

for  him  to  use  any  other  .sound  than  a  whisper,  /.  r.,  the 
aspirate  quaHty  ;  if,  in  connection  with  this,  Me  anger 
him,  he  will  hiss  ;  or,  if  at  length  he  recover  his  voice,  he 
will  use  the  harsh,  jarring,  interrupted  hard-^''  quality  of 
tone,  termed  the  guttural ;  or,  if  that  Vv'hich  he  would 
repel  be  too  great  to  make  anger  appropriate,  it  may  widen 
and  stiffen  his  throat  so  as  to  produce  the  hollow,  almost 
inarticulate  indication  of  awe  and  horror  given  by  what 
is  termed  the  pectoral  quality.  Release  him  now  from 
the  influence  of  fright,  anger,  or  horror,  and  put  him  into 
a  gently  satisfied  mood,  and  he  will  use  his  nearest  ap- 
proach to/z/rr  or  //c^rwrt'/ quality.  Stir  him  then  to  pro- 
found emotion,  inspired  by  what  is  deeply  satisfying,  and 
all  his  vocal  passages  will  expand  again,  and  he  will  pro- 
duce his  nearest  approach  to  the  full,  round,  resonant 
quality  termed  orotund. 

For  these  reasons,  it  seems  indisputable  that,  as  applied 
to  vocal  expression,  equality  represents  the  attitude  of  the 
emotive  nature,  i.  e.,  the  feelijig  i\\d,t  one  has  toward  that 
which  is  perceived.  Three  of  the  qualities  refer  to  what 
one  wishes  to  repel,  viz.,  the  hissing  aspirate  indicating 
feelings  like  affright,  amazcuiciit,  indignation  and  con- 
tempt;  the  guttural  indicating  Iiostilitj  ;  Tiwd  the  pectoral, 
ai^'c  or  horror.  Three  other  qualities  refer  to  what,  if  not 
wholly  satisfactory,  at  least  excites  in  one  no  movement 
aimed  against  it.  The  soft  whisper  indicates  feelings  like 
surprise,  interest,  or  solicitudi  ;  i\\c  tone  termed  distinct- 
i\'el}-  the  pure  or  normal  represents  ^'Vv/ZA'  contemplation  oi 
what  ma\-  be  either  joyous  or  sad  ;  and  the  orotund  repre- 
sents deep  delight,  admiration,  courage,  or  ditcrmination, 
as  inspired  b\'  contemplation  of  the  noble  or  grand. 

As  is  true  of  tUiration,  force,  and  pitch,  so  all  these 
forms  of  (|ualit\-  have  their  correspondences  in  effects  of 


QUALITY  IN  MUSIC.  20/ 

nature  as  manifested  in  other  departments.  Applied  to 
effects  of  water,  for  instance,  a  rushing  stream  would 
represent  the  harsh  aspirate,  a  rocky  stream  the  guttural, 
a  roiled  stream  the  pectoral,  a  rippling  stream  the  gentle 
aspirate,  a  clear  stream  the  pure,  and  a  full,  deep  stream 
the  orotund. 

That  analogies  exist  between  quality  as  used  in  elocu- 
tion and  in  music,  scarcely  needs  to  be  argued.  There 
can  be  no  very  radical  differences  between  possibilities  of 
quality  in  speaking  and  in  singing,  and  it  is  inevitable  that 
the  mind  should  be  influenced  by  the  resemblance,  or  sup- 
posed resemblance,  of  the  tones  even  of  musical  instru- 
ments to  some  effect  natural  to  the  human  voice,  or  else 
produced  in  some  other  way  in  nature.  In  determining 
such  resemblances,  too,  one  would  probably  be  influenced 
b\'  the  uses  which,  as  a  rule,  are  made  of  the  particular 
instruments  which  he  is  hearing.  It  is  undoubtedly  ow- 
ing to  associations  of  this  kind  that  we  read  of  the  stirring 
tones  of  the  fife  and  drum,  the  solemn  tones  of  the  organ, 
the  purity  and  softness  of  the  flute,  the  gaiety  and 
triumph  of  the  trumpet,  the  woe  and  complaint  of  the  bas- 
soon, the  pathos  and  humaneness  of  the  violin. 

There  are  effects  of  qualit\',  too,  which  undoubtedly  are 
purely  imitative,  fulfilling  the  requirements  of  comparison 
as  well  as  of  association.  All  of  us  have  heard  represent- 
ations of  battles  and  thunder-storms  made  such  through 
using  drums  and  cymbals,  of  birds  through  using  flutes, 
and  of  sleigh-rides  through  the  tinkling  of  bells  and  the 
cracking  of  whips.  But,  possibly,  wo.  do  not  all  realize 
that  such  forms  of  imitation  are  not  coiirmed,  as  is  some- 
times sui)i)osed,  to  works  of  a  low  order  of  merit.  For 
instance,  in  Wagner's  '•  Wallciire,"  to  (piote  from  Hans 
von  W'olzogen,  "  The  \\\\m\  blows,  the  thunder  rolls,  light- 


20.S  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF   .ESTHETICS. 

nini;"  ilaslics  in  the  risin<^"  and  fallini^  sway  of  the  orchestra 
and  of  the  stroke  of  the  weather-god's  hammer  in  the 
'  Motive  of  the  Storm'."  There  is  no  doubt,  too,  that  the 
effects  produced  by  the  vioHns  in  the  forest-music  pre- 
ceding the  song  of  the  bird  in  "  Siegfried,"  as  well  as  in 
the  pastoral  symphonies  of  Handel  and  of  Beethoven,  are 
intended  to  imitate,  as  heard  in  the  warmth  of  a  summer's 
day  and  stirred  by  a  gentle  breeze,  the  rustling  of  leaves 
and  the  buzz  and  soft  hum  of  insects  ;  in  fact,  the  same  as 
is  imitated  in  another  art  by  Tennyson,  when  in  "The 
Princess,"  he  speaks   of 

Tlie  moan  uf  doves  in  iinmeiiiorial  elms, 
And  murmuring  of  innuincrable  Ijees. 

These  differences  between  the  representative  qualities 
of  different  musical  instruments  depend  partly  upon  what 
their  sounds  are  in  themselves,  and  partly  upon  the  wa\' 
in  which  they  are  produced — a  violin,  for  instance,  being 
played  sometimes  with  a  bow  and  sometimes  with  the 
finger.  But  that  the  differences  exist,  and  that  the\-  are 
representative,  is  almost  universally  recognised  b}-  both. 
composers  and  audiences.  When,  for  instance,  in  listen- 
ing to  an  opera,  we  hear  predominantly  the  clash  of  the 
cymbals  or  rattle  of  the  kettle-drums,  associ;ited,  as  these 
usually  are,  with  the  sharper  tones  of  the  metallic  instru- 
ments, M'c  know  that  the  sounds,  as  in  the  last  act  of 
Mozart's  "  Don  Juan,"  where  hell  is  supposed  to  await 
the  hero,  represent,  according  to  the  degrees  of  their  in- 
tensity, not  only  the  startling,  but  the  ]io:;ii!c  and  iiicjiaciiic^ 
effects  which,  in  the  human  voice,  we  associate  with  giit- 
///'7-c?/ quality.  If  ain'  action  of  the  play  folkjw  what  we 
hear,  we  ex[)ect  to  see  some  violent  ccjuflict  full  of  malig- 
nity and  peril.  When  the  predominating  sounds  are  those 
of  the  bass  drums  and  the  lower,  more  hf)llow  tones  of 


QUALITY  IN  MUSIC.  209 

either  tlie  wind  or  the  strini^ccl  instruments,  we  know  that, 
as  in  the  orchestration  which  in  Wagner's  "  Siegfried" 
accompanies  the  hero's  encounter  with  the  dragon,  tliey 
represent  the  presence  of  that  which  inspires  to  awe  and 
horror  such  as,  in  the  human  voice,  we  associate  with  the 
pectoral  c]uahty.  Tlie  resemblance  to  this  tone  in  its 
milder  forms  is  that  which  imparts  a  solemn  effect  to 
some  of  the  music  of  the  church  organ.  When  again  the 
predominating  sounds  are  those  of  the  wood-instruments — 
the  clarinet,  the  flute,  even,  to  some  extent,  the  organ — we 
feel  that  these  represent  the  gently  satisfied  mood,  the 
peaceful  contemplation  which,  in  elocution,  is  indicated  b\' 
pure  or  iu>ruial  cj^uality.  When,  instead  of  the  wooden 
wind  instruments,  we  hear  the  metallic,  as  either  in  the 
organ  or  in  trumpets  and  instruments  of  similar  character, 
we  feel  that  these  represent  the  more  jM'ofound  emotions, 
the  admiration,  enthusiasm,  courage,  determinatioii,  that 
we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  elocutionary  orotund 
quality.  To  such  music  we  expect  to  see  troops  march  on 
to  the  stage,  as  in  the  Soldiers'  Chorus  in  Gounod's 
"  Faust,"  giving  vent  to  their  confidence  in  anticipation 
of  \ictory,  or  to  their  joy  in  view  of  its  accomplishment- 
Once  more,  when  we  hear  the  stringed  instruments  we 
recognise  that  it  is  their  peculiar  function  to  im})art  in- 
tensity of  feeling,  just  as  is  true  of  tlie  elocutionary 
aspirated  quality.  Hence,  the  reason  for  the  use  of  the 
violins  in  that  scene  in  Wagner's  "  Meistersinger  "  which 
takes  place  in  the  house  of  Hans  Sachs  ;  or  in  the  Venus 
music  of  his  "  Taiinliaiiser  "  ;  or  in  the  waltz  music  of 
Gounod's  "  I'"aust."  Juntas  in  tlie  case  of  the  elocutionary 
aspirate,  too,  so  here  the  effects  of  these  stringed  instru- 
ments may  partak'e  of  those  of  aiu'  of  the  other  instru- 
ments.   Xot  only  when  a.^sociated,  as  in  orchestral  music, 


2IO  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

with  the  instruments  that  have  been  mentioned,  but  even 
when  not  associated  with  these,  the  sliarper  tones  of  the 
strings  suggest  the  aspirated  guttural,  their  lower  hollow 
tones  the  aspirated  pectoral,  their  struck  tones  as  in  the 
piano,  the  guitar,  and  the  harp,  the  aspirated  pure,  or 
norjiial,  and  their  tones  as  produced  by  the  bow,  the 
aspirated  orotund. 

Those  famiUar  with  poetry  will  recognise,  at  once,  how 
the  principles  just  mentioned  apply  to  it.  Here,  produced 
by  the  quality  of  tone  necessitated  in  uttering  certain 
vowels  or  consonants,  are  distinctively  imitative  effects  : 
Of  the  sounds  of  a  knife  when  carving : 

Ancient  rosaries, 
Laborious  orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sjihere. 

The  Princess  :  Touiyson. 

And  here  of   the  loud   dashing   and    soft    rippling   of 

ivaves  ; 

Roared  as  when  the  rolling  breakers  boom  and  blanch  on  the  ]ireci]nces. 

Boiidicea  :  Idei)i. 
The  nuirm'ring  surge 
That  on  the  unnumber'd  idle  ])el)bles  chafes. 

Lear,  {-,•.,  6:    Shakespeare. 

And  in  this,  of  ice  and  rocks  resounding  with  the 
clanging  of  armour  and  footsteps  .• 

The  bare  black  cliff  clanged  round  him  as  he  based 
His  feet  on  juts  of  slipp'ry  crag  tliat  rang 
Sharp  smitten  with  the  dint  of  armed  heels. 

Mart  ,r  Arthur:  Tennyson. 

And  in  this,  of  the  roar  and  clash  of  i.'arriors  with  their 
\veapons   and  chariots: 

Arms  on   armour  clashing  bray'd 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  bra/.en  ch.iriots  raged. 

Paradise  Lost,  6:  Milton, 


ASSOCIATIVE   EFFECTS  OF  SOUNDS.  211 

And  in  this,  the  clear,  crisp  atmosphere  of  a  winter's 
evening  : 

!Io\v  tliey  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle  in  the  icy  air  of  ni<^lit, 

While  tlie  stars  that   oversprinkle  all  the  heas  en  .seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  deliyht. 

The  Bills:  Poc. 

And  here  are  associative  effects  produced  by  the  Hke- 
ness  of  the  sounds  of  s  and  .cr  to  th.e  elocutionary  hissing 
aspirate,  indicating  ama::ciiic)it,  affright,  indignation,  and 
contempt: 

\'ou  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen 
Tho'  it  do  split  you  ;  for  from  this  day  forth 
I  '11  use  y(.)U  for  my  mirth — yea,  for  my  lau<^hter — 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Julius  Casar,  i7'.,j:  Slm/ccspraft', 
Now  crack  th}-  lungs,  and  split  th\'  hra/cn  i)ipe  ; 
ISlow,  villain,    till  thy  siihered  Mas  cheek 
Out-swell  the  colic  of  puff'd  Aquilon. 

Ti  oiciis  diiJ  Ci\ssiiia ,  iz\,  j  :  S/zd/c^/'iarc'. 

B\'  tlie  lik-eness  of  the  sound  of  g  to  the  elocutionary 
guttural  tone  indicating //^mV////;' ." 

How  the  garden  grudged  me  grass 

Where  1  stood — the  iron  gate 
Clround  his  teelh  to  let  nie  pass. 

./  Sirtiiaiit  III  t/u-  I'illa  :  R.   Bro-,'iii)i^. 

\\\  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  of  au,  on,  and  oi  to  the 
eh^ctitifjnary  pectoral  indicating  horror  : 

With  staring  countenance  stern,  as  one  astuwiiM, 
.Vnd  siaggering  steps,  t'l  wcel  wliat  sudden  stour 
Had  wrouglu  that  horror  sii-an^c. 

J-'iit'ri,-  {hifiH,  I.  A^,  J  .•   Spenser. 

l-'or  a  charm  of  po\\'erful  Iroulde, 
Like  a  helMir.ah  hoiland   l.ul.l.Ie. 
l)t>uMe,  dMiihlc  ImH  and   U-Mulde, 
Fire  liurn,  and  cauMroii  huliMe. 

J/-/< /',//, ,  /,  .,   /  .   Shakespeare. 


212  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

By  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  of  s  and  sh  to  the  elocu- 
tionary soft  whisper  indicating  interest,  surprise,  soliei- 
tude : 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs  ; 

She  swore. — In  faitli  't  was  strange,  't  was  passing  strange, 

'T  was  pitiful,  't  was  wondrc)us  jiitiful. 

Othello,  i.,   J  :  SJiaJcespcarc. 

By  the  likeness  of  the  sounds  of  the  short  vowels  to 
the  elocutionary  pure  or  normal  tone,  indicating  gentle 
contc))iplation  : 

Thoughts  light,  like  gleams,  my  spirit's  sky, 

l!ut  they  will  not  remain  ; 
They  light  me  once,  they  hurry  l.iy, 

And  never  e(jme  again. 

Dcspomloicy:  Mattluu'  Arnold . 

And  here  the  sounds  of  the  long  vowels  and  of  ;//,  ;/,  r, 
and  /are  like  those  of  the  elocutionary  orotund  tone,  in- 
dicating deep  dcligJit,  adjniration,  eon  rage,  or  deteruiina- 
Hon  : 

Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around, 
Every  shade  and  hal'owed  fountain 

Murmured  deep  a  solemn  sound. 

Tlh-  Progress  of  Poisy  :  Gray. 

Peace   and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  liglit  and  law. 

Barbara  Frietcliie  :  IVliiUier. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

REPRESENTATION    IN   Till':    EE1:MENTS    OK    FORM    IN  Till-; 

ARTS  oi-  s:ght. 

C'urrespondences  in  yVrts  of  Sound  and  of  Sis^ht — Size  Reprcsentini; 
Menial  E^iiinate — This  I'act  and  ITf'ecIs  of  Sit^nifieance  in  iJeav.ty — 
Lart^e  Size  and  Nearness — Same  Principle  in  Architecture — Resume — 
Massiveness  or  ToucJi  RepresentiuL;  Mental  I'aiergyin  Drawintj; — Paint- 
ing— Sculpture — ■Arcliilei:tui-e — '-  /Ullines  Kepresentint;  Mental  Motive 
— Their  Meanings  in  ihe  Iluman  Form — In  (k'stures  of  the  Hands 
—  I'isI  —  Finger — I'ullhand — Closing  (iesture — <  >pening  Oesture — 
-Movements  of  Arms — (iestures  Inward  and  ()i',t\\ard — i)ranialic  ( iest- 
ures — (leneral  Actuating  ?\I(jtives  Represented  in  the  (iestures — Ana- 
logous Meanings  in  Natural  "'cenerv,  of  Curve-. — ()f  Straight  Pines  and 
Angles — As  Indicated  \>y  a  Man's  Pse  of  them  in  Pandscape-(  iarden- 
ing — In  Painting — In  ^lcrdptul■e — In  Architecture — (hiality  in  Tone 
Re[jresenting  Mental  l*'eeling  l-'inds  Analogy  in  ( 'olour — <  'old  and  Warm 
(Colours — I  )i!Terent  Colours  ( 'orresponding  to  I  )iffi-|-ent  i  hialities — Nor- 
mal Tone  and  Cold;  Orotund  Tone  and  Warm  Colour — N'aried  i 'olours 
and  Pxciting  I'Tfects — Red  and  Trumpet — i'Namples  ti-om  Painting — 
Cohjurs  in  Iluman  Cimnlenance —  !u  Sculpt  ure — In  Architecture — ( 'ol- 
ours  in  Pep  resent  ing  I  )ihtrince — Applird  to  1  luilding^ — Mixed  ( '( iloui's — 
Pla.T— P!ack  \\itli  Cohl  Colours— Willi  Warm  C^ilours— White  with 
( 'old  ( 'oh  lurs — With  ^Varm  (  'ohmrs — ( 'lUiclusii  m. 


TLJST  as  the  elements  represeiitiiii;'  llir)ii^-]it  or  emotion 
in  the  arts  of  sound  are  tracealjle,  primai'i!}-,  to  th<\se 
of  clociitifjn,  so  thi:  same,  in  the  afts  of  sijglit,  are  traceal)le, 
primai'ily,  t(^  tliose  of  ;gt:st  tii'e.  1 1  is  tln'oiioh  t  he  use  of  tin; 
both',  l)iit  pai'liciilai"!)' of  the  liaiids,  tlial  we  leai'ii  hotli  to 
recoLjjnise  and  to  maka;  tliin;gs  tliat  lia\'e,   (M"  ch)  n(;t  have, 

213 


214  "^^^^   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

size,  solidity,  shape,  or  temperature.  These  four,  re- 
spectively, correspond  to  tlie  elements  of  representation 
already  considered.  Size  or  extension  influences  our  mental 
valuation  of  effects  of  si<4ht  precisely  as  <//i'r^?//tVMnfluences 
us  when  considering  sounds;  solidity,  indicated  in  material 
bodies  b\'  different  degrees  of  massiveness,  and  in  pigments 
by  apparent  strength  or  weakness  of  touch  in  imparting 
light  or  shade,  with  or  without  colour,  manifests  degrees 
of  mental  energy  in  producing  effects  of  sight  just  as 
force  does  when  used  with  sounds  ;  shape  or  outline,  indi- 
cated by  simple  or  mixed  straight  lines,  angles,  or  curves, 
reveals  the  mental  aim  or  ///t'/Ze'r  in  producing  effects  of 
sight  precisely  7i% pitch  does  in  sounds  ;  and  tcinperatiirc, 
subtly  associated  with  the  coming  and  going  of  different 
hues  in  the  human  hands  and  face,  and,  therefore,  with 
colour,  suggests  to  sight  the  same  results  of  mental/V^'//;/^ 
conveyed  by  quality  of  tone. 

To  begin  with  size  or  extension,  men  have  learned  through 
their  own  experience  in  lifting,  or  from  what  they  have 
seen  of  others'  lifting,  that  a  large  object,  one  that  fills  a 
large  amount  of  space,  is,  as  a  rule,  heavier  than  small 
objects,  and  can  consecjucntly  bear  a  heavier  v.'cight  or, 
as  we  say.  is  stronger.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  com- 
paratively large  limbs,  like  those  of  the  Farncse  Hercules 
(Pig.  24,  page  215),  and  large  pillars,  like  those  of  Melrose 
Abbey  (Fig.  25,  page  216),  necessarily  suggest,  by  way  of 
association,  such  conceptions  as  hea^'iness,  streng^th,  ivi- 
movahility,  ox  substantiality;  whereas  comparatively  slender 
limbs,  like  those  of  the  Flying  AIcrcur_\-  (  h'ig.  26  page  2  17), 
or  apparentl}-  small  pillars,  like  those  of  the  interior  of  the 
church  near  Kostroma  (Fig.  27,  page  2181,  suggest,  in  the 
samewa}-,  a  lack  of  weight  and  therefore  such  conceptions 
as  lightness,  weakness,  nioz'ability,  ov  unsubstantiality.     No 


REPRESENTATION   THROUGH  SIZE. 


215 


one  would  expect  the  Hercules  to  be  able  to  fly,  but  he 
might  expect  this  of  the  Mercury.  The  columns  of  Mel- 
rose Abbey  would  seem  out  of  place  unless  the  roof  were 
apparently  heavy;  and  those  of  the  church  at  Kostroma 
would  be  equally  out 
of  place  unless  the 
roof  were  apparently 
light. 

Just  here  it  may  be 
well  to  point  out  the 
confirmation  afforded 
by  these  facts  of  the 
view  advanced  in  Chap- 
ter II.,  that  beauty  in- 
volves effects  produced 
by  significance  as  well 
as  by  form.  Notice 
how  true  this  is  as  ap- 
plied precisely  where 
the  opponents  of  this 
view  would  be  most 
likely  to  say  that  it 
could  not  be  applied, 
i.  e.,  to  the  human  form. 
No  possible  conception 
of  the  mere  effects  of 
curves,  straight  lines, 
or  angles  could  account 
for  the  lack  of  beauty 
which  all  feel  to  be  char- 
acteristic      of      clumsy 

members,  especially  of  joints,  as  at  the  neck,  wrists,  and 
ankles  ;    and    of    fragile    members,    especial!)-    \\here  one 


FIG.    24.-FARNESE    HERCULES    BY   GLYCON 

THE    ATHENIAN. 

.Sec  pages  214,  215. 


2l6 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  yESTI/ETICS. 


expects  the  opposite,  as  in  the  head,  chest,  and  calves. 
The  only  way  in  which  to  account  for  these  effects  of  size 


FIG.   25.— MELROSE  ABBEY,  SCOTLAND 
See  pat^es  214,  215,  219.  261, 


is  to  acknowlcd<^re  that,  by  way  of  association,  the  ckimsy 
members  suggest  a  lack  of  agility  and,  therefore,  of  tlie 
possibilities  of  grace,  and  the  fragile  members  a  lack  of 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  SIZE. 


217 


brain,  lung,  or  brawn,  and,  therefore,  of  the  possibilities 
of  strength. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  line  of  thought  from  which  this 
is  a  digression,  it  may  be 
said  again  that  an  object  of 
large  size,  as  contrasted 
with  surrounding  objects 
of  small  size,  represents 
that  which  is  important  or 
influential.'  At  first 
thought,  it  might  be  sup- 
posed that  tlie  painter 
would  find  it  dif^cult  to 
represent  by  means  of 
size,  one  of  many  figures 
as  being  important,  and 
yet  to  represent  all  the  fig- 
ures as  being  of  the  same 
relative  size  as  in  nature. 
But  a  little  reflection  will 
enable   us    to    realise   that 

iL    IS    extiemcly    cisy    loi  p|Q  25.    flying  mercury,  by  giovanni 
him    to    tlo     this,     merely  da  bologna. 

through      an     application  See  ,.a^as  214,  -'i  =  ,  242. 

of  the  laws  of  i)(,-rs})ecti\'c,  i.  c,  by  dc[)icting  the  im- 
pcjrtant  figure  or  figures  as  being  in  the  foreground  of  an 
art-product  and  the  unimportant  figures  as  being  in  llie 
background.  Tin's  can  produce  the  desired  effect  l>ecause, 
in  addition  to  wh.it  has  been  indicated  alreadx',  l.irge  size, 


'  'I'liiis  ill  llie  teiiipK'^  lui'l  luinlis  (if  aneie'iit.  1''.l;\'1iI,  tlie  L;i"eal  men  an 
(lel.i<le'l  as  heiii-,  f'Hir  or  live  liiiH--,  larL,'<T  llian  liaise  alioiii  llieai.  In  cnn 
SK/ili'iii  \vitli  llii-  .•uTaii;,;-  ..leiil,  tlicre  i-,  \\u  a]  ij  .liia.t  iua  (if  l!ie  law-,  (if  llu 
persjiect  i\-(-,  aial,  (if  cmns';,  tlie  v/aieral  effect  i->  s'.IidH)'  iiiiiiatui'al. 


iS 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ,  EST// E  TICS. 


as  contrasted  with  small,  indicates  nearness.  By  carrying 
out  the  laws  of  the  perspective,  the  grouping,  either  in 
painting  or  sculpture,  may  be  made  to  represent  both  the 


FIG_  27.— CHURCH  NEAR  KOSTROMA,  RUSSIA. 
Sl-c  pa^cs  214,   215,   219, 

relations  in  tlie  mind  of  the  conceptions  which  are  associ- 
ated with  the  figures,  and  also  the  relations  in  nature  of 
the  appearances  of  the  figures  with  whicli  those  of  the 
art-product  arc  made  to  compare.  (See  1^'ig.  2,  page  3, 
and  Fig.  4,  j)age  41). 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  DISTANCE. 


219 


Effects  of  nearness  or  remo*:eness  arc  produced  in  the 
same  way  in  architcturc.  Massive  outlines  in  walls, 
pillars,  ceilings,  domes,  spires,  lessen  out"  appreciation  of 
their  distance  from  us.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  although 
the  actual  measurements  were  the  same,  the  width  of  the 
floor-space  represented  in  Fig.  25,  page  216,  would  appear 
to  be  scarcely  more  that  half  that  in  Fig.  27,  page  2 1 8.      So, 


Acroterium. 

Raking  cornice 
with  cymatium. 
(  Pediment  inclusing 
tympanum. 

-    Cornice. 
•  Kntablature. 
Capital. 


\  Colt: 


FIG.  28.— GREEK  DORIC  TEMPLE  OF  /tGINA. 
.See  pa^es  ij8,  21'),  222,  225,  251,  252,  279,  2(/),  341. 

lOO,  owing  to  tlie  massing  of  outlines  in  large,  unbroken 
s[)aces,  all  (ircek  buildings  appear,  as  a  rule,  smaller  than 
Gotliic  buildings  of  the  same  dimensions  in  which  there 
are  details  of  ornamentation  gi'cater  in  numl)cr  and  more 
minute  in  size.  Jioides  this,  the  Gi'eek  buildings  usually 
appear  lower.  This  is  owing  to  the  effect  of  contrast. 
The  Gothic  buildings  are  higher  in  ])roportion  to  their 
width.  Compaie  the  effects  of  the  Gothic  forms  in  1' ig. 
29,  page  220  with  the  Gi'eek  forms  in  J^'ig.  28,  page  219. 


220 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  ^ESTHETICS. 


To  sum  up  what  has  been  said  Avith  reference  to  exten- 
sion, in  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture,  relatively 
large  and  small  size  corresponding  in  this  regard  to 
relatively  long  and  short  duration,  have  respective  repre- 
sentative effects.  Either  by  way  of  association  or  of 
comparison,  or  of  both,  they  respectively  indicate  what    is 

_,  heavy,  strong,  substantial, 
ivinwvabic,  important,  in- 
fluential, dignified,  near, 
on  the  one  hand;  or  else, 
on  the  other  hand,  what  is 
light,  weak,  tuisiibstantial, 
movable,  unimportant,  nn- 
infinential,  tindignificd,  re- 
mote. This  principle  causes 
us,  when  looking  at  ob- 
jects, to  think  more  of  a 
full-growii  man  than  of  a 
doll,  more  of  a  cathedral 
than  of  a  cottage,  more  of 
the  fingers  on  a  statue  than 
of  the  fringe  on  which 
perhaps,  they  rest,  and  more  of  the  towers  and 
domes  of  a  building  than  of  its  chimneys  and  ventilators. 
The  same  principle  aj^iplled  in  conriection  with  the  natural 
laws  of  the  perspective,  causes  us  to  give  more  consider- 
ation to  the  full-sized  figures  in  the  foreground  of  a  painting 
than  to  the  minute  objects  in  its  background.  If  the  picture 
be  designed  to  interest  us  in  animals,  this  fact  is  repre- 
sented by  large  size  that  brings  them  to  the  front;  if  in  a 
pasture  in  which  the\'  are  feeding,  by  small  size  that  sends 
them  to  the  rear.  Overbalancing  foliage,  with  a  cherub's 
face    just    visible    in    it,    emphasises    the    prodigality    of 


FiG.  29.  -  HOUSES  O-  PARLIAMENT 

FROM  OLD  PALADE  YARD. 

See  paL;es  126,  219,  222,  290. 


i.r    \,  \  y  ■:- 


^^^-^N  ^ 


v^    Vjr'  '•^"'^ 


^ 


HI     ri 


-J 


222  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTJlETICS. 

inanimate  natiu'e.  A  full-sized  statue,  with  a  few  flowers 
about  it,  emphasises  the  pre-eminence  of  man.  In  a 
building,  the  requirements  for  the  support  either  of  many 
occupants  or  of  a  heavy  superstructure  are  represented 
by  large  foundations,  wall,  or  pillars  (see  Fig.  28,  page  219') 
accommodation  for  crowds,  b\'  wide  entrances  (see  I'ig. 
34,  page  227);  for  light  in  large,  high  rooms,  by  large,  high 
windows  (sec  Fig.  29,  page  220) ;  and  for  air,  by  lofty  roofs 
or  domes  (Fig.  53,  page  281  ;  Fig.  79,  page  354). 

Passing  on  to  the  effects  of  relative  Diassivoicss  or  en- 
ergy of  touch,  which  in  the  arts  of  sight  correspond  to 
force  as  used  with  sounds,  com[)are  Fig.  30,  page  221,  with 
Fig.  31,  page  223.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  the  heavier  and 
coarser  lines,  characterising  the  first  of  these,  give  one  an 
entirely  different  conception  of  the  degree  of  mental  en- 
ergy exerted  b\-  the  artist  than  do  the  lighter  and  finer 
lines,  characterising  the  second.-^  From  the  first  we  re- 
ceive an  impression  of  strength;  from  the  second,  an  im- 
pression of  delicacy.  Were  the  two  produced  b}- different 
artists,  we  might  infer  that  the  difference  in  their  styles 
was  owing  to  a  difference  in  tlieir  mcMital  characteristics. 
But  notice,  now,  that  there  is  a  reason  outside  of  the  mind 
of  the  artist  for  the  manifestation  of  energy  in  the  one 
sketch,  and  of  a  lack  of  energy  in  th.e  other.  The  heavy 
lines  are  representative  not  merely  of  the  artist's  own 
moods,  but  of  these  as  excited  b)-  what  he  has  seen,  and 
with  which,  therefore,  his  moods  are  in  s\"mpathv.  No- 
thing, so  well  as  such  lines,  could  manifest  the  impetuous 
fury  of  the  storm,  the  violent  swaying  of  the  trees,  or  the 
resisting  strengtli  of  these  and  of  the  rocks.  Nor  could 
anything,  so  \vell  as  the  delicate  lines,  represent  the  rest- 
ful gentleness  of  the  other  scene,  the  trees  of  which  look 
as  if  unable  to  stand  the  sliijhtest  blow,  and  the  shores   of 


'\ '  ^>^ 


-^ 


224  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .-ESTHETICS. 

which  sccin  ready  to  yickl  to  the  feeblest  flood.  Again 
ob.serx'C  in  Fig.  3,  page  19,  the  comparatively  fine  lines  or 
the  lack  of  lines  used  in  the  delineation  of  the  texture  of 
the  marble  and  of  the  flowers.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  these 
differences  in  the  shading  or  strength  of  lines,  in  such 
cases,  can  be  rightly  termed  representative  both  of  mental 
and  of  material  conditions? 

Of  course,  the  same  general  principles  must  apply  to 
lines  produced  through  the  use  of  colour.  "By  a  few 
strokes,"  saws  Reynolds,  in  his  eleventh  "Discourse  on 
Painting,"  "  Titian  knew  liow  to  mark  the  general  image 
and  character  of  whatever  object  he  attempted." 
"Touch,"  sa\-s  Charles  Blanc  in  his  "  Grammar  of  Paint- 
ing and  Engraving,"  translated  b}-  K.  N.  Doggett — "  touch 
is  the  handwriting  of  the  painter,  the  stroke  of  his  iniinf. 
Leonard!  cla  Vinci  treated  all  his  pictures  with 
equal  touch,  smooth  and  melting.  Titian  himself  made 
little  difference,  and  only  in  the  T'eter  Martyr'  and  'The 
Assumption'  he  i^ccras  led  by  his  siibjt-ct  to  accents  more 
animated,  more  marked  than  u.sual.  .  .  .  Poussin, 
painting  '  Px'rrhus  Saved'  or  the  'Rape  of  the  Sal)ines,' 
treats  his  painting  with  a  manly  hand  and  intentional  rude- 
ness, while  he  guides  the  pencil  Mith  more  gentleness 
when  he  represents  'Rebecca'  and    her  companions.  " 

The  same  diffei'ences  between  the  representati\'e  effects 
of  strength  in  outline  are  perce[)tible  in  sculpture  also. 
Inthe  Laocoon  (I'ig.  19,  page  123),  notice  the  feeling  of 
energy  and  strength  conveyed  by  the  Away  in  which  the 
serpent  and  the  human  limbs  are  projected  from  the  deep 
shadows  which  the  arrangement  of  them  necessitates. 
The  same  is  true  of  Michael  Angelo's  statue  of  "  Giuliano 
de'  Medici,  with  P^igures  of  Niglit  and  Day  "( I-'ig.  8,  page 
'.)6).     In  this  not  only  the  arrangement  of  the  limbs,  but 


REPRESENTATION    TN ROUGH  OUTLINES. 


225 


jf  all  the  surfaces,  is  designed  to  bring  out  strongly  con- 
trasting effects  of  light  and  shade.  Considerably  less 
forceful  than  these  are  the  effects  produced  by  mere 
reliefs  such  as  we  have  in  Fig.  9,  page  97,  and  Fig.  10, 
page  98. 

The  same  principles  apply  to  architecture.     Any  oi^.e  at 
all  sensitive    to    .nesthetic    effects 
will   feel,  almost  at  a  first  glance, 
the    im})ression    of    strength   con- 
veyed by  the  pillars  of   the  Greek 
temples,  as  in  Fig.  28,  page  219,  or 
by  the  pilasters  of  the  Renaissance 
buildings,  as  in  Fig.  32,  page  225  ; 
or  by  the  buttresses  of  the  Gothic 
cathedrals,  as  in  Fig.  33,  page  226; 
or    by     any     arrangements,     per- 
pendicular    or    vertical,  that   ackl    s^ 
to   the  possibilities   and  presence 
of  shadows,  as  in  k^ig.  34,  page  227.   fi3.  32. -pavilion  of  riche- 
Ile   will  feel,    too,   the  impression  ,     "-ieu,  papis. 

.  ,  Sec  paycs  32^,  341. 

ot   a   certam  amount  ot  structural 

weakness  conve\-ed  by  plain  walls,  such  as  a[)i)car  in  Fig. 
35'  P'^^'-'  229.  "  As  the  great  poem  and  the  great  picture," 
says  Ruskin,  in  his  "  Se\-en  Lamps  of  Architecture,"  "  gen- 
erally affect  us  most  by  the  ma'e'sty  of  their  masses  of 
light  and  shade,  .  .  ,  I  do  not  b"lievc  that  ever  any 
building  was  truly  great  unless  it  had  mighty  masses, 
vigorous  and  dec:p,  of  shadow  mingled  with  its  surfaces." 

In  tlie  arts  of  sound,  cs[)ecia]ly  in  poetry,  tlie  efft-ctsof 
jori  c  and/z/r//  usually  go  togethei-.  \{,  in  a  poetic  foot,  ^\■e 
acce-nt  one  s_\-llal)le,  we  almo-^t  iiix'ariably  gi\'e  it  a  differ- 
ent pitch  from  that  of  the  unaccented  syllabU;  following  it. 
There  is  the  same   connection  between  the  corresponding 


FI3,   33.      COLOGNE  CATHEDRAL— FACADE. 
226  Sec  pilL^c-  225,   251.    252,   2!. I,  279,    290     21)},    317,    341, 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH   OUTLINES. 


227 


elements  in  the  arts  of  siglit.  When  we  give  more 
force  to  a  colour  in  painting  by  increasing  the  effects  of 
light  and  sluule,  wc  usually  change  the  kind,  or,  what  may 
be  termed  the  pitch,  of  the  colour;  and  though  certain 
buildings  and  statues  seem  to  be  devoid  of  colour,  we  can- 
not, except  by  using  many  different  kinds  of  it,  make  pic- 
tures which  will  re 
produce  with  abso- 
lute accuracy  such 
effects  as  have  just 
been  attributed  to 
relative  degrees  of 
massiveness  or  of  en- 
ei-gy  of  touch.  The 
places  where  one 
C(;lour  gives  way  to 
another  in  painting 
usually  seem  to  forni 
lines  ;  and  the  places 
where  there  seem 
to  be   lines   in   scul[)- 

ture  and  architecture  often  se[)arate  colours.  Let  us 
consider  what  conceptions  are  rejn'esented  b}'  the  different 
wa\'s  in  which  different  masses  of  similar  colour,  or — what 
is  the  same  thing--(littercnt  shapes  are  se[)ai-,ited  from 
one  another.  I  n  other  words,  let  us  consider  what  is  repre- 
sented b\'  the  different  general  directions  and  characters 
of  the  outlines  foi'muu'  contours. 

In  accortlance  with  wliat  was  said  on  page  190,  the  best 
wa\'  of  determining  thi-^  is  to  start  by  considei-ing  the 
principles  of  gt-^turi.'.  (n;stiii"e  I't'presents  thought  or  emo- 
tion through  using,  niainl_\-,  the  hands.  IVit  the  liands 
are  connected  with  the  human  IjckIv  ;  tind  we  canncjt  fulK^ 


FIG.  34.— CHURCH  OF  ST.  MARK,  VtNiCE. 
Seepages  126,  222,  225,  252,  27(],  293. 


228  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ^I^.STHETICS. 

study  what  is  expressed  by  them,  without  going  back,  for 
a  moment,  to  ask  what  is  expressed  by  the  whole  body 
with  which  tlicy  are  connected,  and  of  which  the}-  form  a 
part.  The  representative  characteristics  of  the  body  have 
been  unfolded,  at  length,  in  the  author's  "Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts."  Here, 
after  cautioning  the  reader  to  bear  in  mind  that  few 
individual  forms  manifest  the  features  of  any  one  type 
exclusively,  it  will  suffice  to  say  that,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  })hysiology  and  phrenology,  7-ou)id)icss  of  form  or 
feature,  /.  c,  curvature,  represents  the  degree  of  vital  or 
physical  power  ;  that  sharpness^  i.e.,  angularity,  represents 
the  degree  of  mental  or  interpretive  power;  and  that 
loigth  represents  the  degree  of  motive  or  emotive  power, 
i.  €.,  the  degree  of  that  self-control  or  of  lack  of  it  which 
is  sometimes  termed  moral  power.  For  instance,  men 
with  exceptionally  healthy  lungs  or  stomachs  usually 
have  large  ca\'ities  in  which  they  are  placed;  artists  have 
noses  and  fingers — at  their  sides,  or  ti})s — that  may  be 
sharp  and  roun.d,  or  sharp  and  long,  but  are  always  sharp; 
and  extremely  inflexible  and  scrupulous  people  are  usually 
lank  and  long.  If  we  separate  the  suggestions  of  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  body,  the  torso  seems  best  to  represent  the 
vital  or  physical  ;  the  extremities,  especialb,-  the  head  and 
hands,  to  represent  the  mental  or  interpretive,  as,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  hand-gesture  ;  and  the  chest,  shoulders,  el- 
bows, and  knees,  to  represent  the  motive  or  emotive,  as, 
for  instance,  when  one  is  excited  or  embarrassed.  Facial 
expression  seems  based  u[)on  the  principle  that  the  chin 
and  lower  lip  best  represent  the  vital  or  physical  ;  the  ej-e- 
brows  and  forehead  best  represent  the  mental  or  inter- 
pretive ;  and  the  nose  and  eyes  best  represent  the  motive 
or  emotive.     The  movements   of  these  features   to  repre- 


REPRESENTATION   THROUGH   THE   BODY.        229 

sent   particular  conceptions  correspond,  when  the   liead 
is  hftcd  or  lowered  or  turned  sideways,  to  the  arms;  and 


jLlj     Wi  l^^ 


-|^i    W  1511  ill,  iij 


FIG.  35.— MARIEN  PLATZ,  MUNICH. 


wlicn  the  coimlciiaiicc  is  contracted,  expanded,  or  ilrawn 
down,  to  tile  liands. 

l^'roni    thc.^.e    brief   .su'4''x:stion.s    with     reference    to   the 


230  TIIR  ESSEXTIALS   01-    yKSTHF.TICS. 

representative  effects  of  tlic  different  parts  of  tlie  body 
as  a  whole,  let  us  turn  to  consitler  the  gestures  formed  by 
the  hands.  We  may  bet;in  by  sayin<^  that  there  are  three 
])lanes  on  which  the  stroke  of  a  gesture  may  be  made. 
One  is  o)i  a  Ici'cl  with  the  breast,  which  is  the  seat  of  the 
motive  or  emotive  nature.  One  is  bchnv  the  breast,  and 
one  is  above  it.  The  principle  underlying  the  phase  of 
thought  represented  by  the  hand,  when  carried  to  either 
of  the  three  planes,  is  as  follows  :  Every  one  inside  of  a 
body  feels  or  conceives  himself  to  be  at  the  centre  of  the 
imiverse,  wdiich  the  horizon  rims,  the  earth  grounds,  and 
the  zenith  domes.  When  he  gestures,  he  cannot  do 
otherwise  than  gi\'e  expression  to  this  feeling.  His 
hands  are  carried  o)i  a  level  with  the  breast  to  represent 
what  he  conceives  to  be  on  a  physical,  and  hence,  by 
analogy,  a  mental  or  moral  level  with  himself.  They 
move  before  him  to  indicate  that  which  he  really  sees 
there,  or  to  refer  ideall}'  to  the  truth  or  hope  that  he  an- 
ticipates in  the  future.  They  move  behiiid\\\\w  to  indicate 
that  which  is  reall\-  behind  him,  something  that  he  has 
abandoned  or  turned  from  possibly  with  loathing  or  re- 
gret ;  or  the}'  may  refer  ideally  to  a  condition  of  opinion 
and  life  beyond  which  he  has  progressed.  They  move  to 
one  side  to  refer  to  scmtic  actual  physical  presence  thcri\ 
or,  ideally,  if  the  hand  indicate  exclusion,  to  something 
that  is  a  side  issue  fi'om  the  main  line  of  his  thought; 
possibly  to  some  course  that  is  a  diversion  from  straight- 
forward action.  ]kit  if  the  hand  do  not  indicate  exclu- 
sion, the  gesture  to  the  side  may  refer  to  the  general  and 
comprehcnsi\'e.  The  hands  are  carried  beloiv  the  breast 
to  represent  that  which  one  concei\'cs  to  be  plu'sicalK-, 
mentally,  or  morally  l)clow  himself;  /.  e.,  below  his  sight, 
comprehension,  or  control  ;  to  indicate  a  pathway,  an  idea 


232  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

that  he  can  understand,  a  power  that  he  can  master.  They 
are  carried  above  the  breast  to  represent  that  which  he 
conceives  to  be  physically,  mentally,  or  morally  above  him- 
self ;  above  his  sight,  comprehension,  or  control;  to  indi- 
cate a  star,  a  grand  idea,  a  mighty  force. 

In  applying  these  principles,  it  must  always  be  borne  in 
mind  that  the  different  directions  of  the  gesture  represent 
not  what  actually  is,  but  what  a  man  conceives  to  be. 
Most  of  the  published  discussions  of  this  subject  do  not 
sufficientl}'  emphasise  this  fact.  W^e  are  told,  for  in- 
stance, that  good  and  God  must  receive  upward  gestures, 
and  bad  and  the  Devil  downward  gestures.  But  this  de- 
pends entirel}'  upon  one's  point  of  view,  upon  one's  con- 
ception. The  expression,  ''  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan," 
would  re(|uire  a  downward  and  backward  gesture,  because 
the  speaker  would  conceive  of  Satan  as  below  and  behind 
himself  morally  ;   but  the  expression  — 

'I'lic-re  was  a  ISnilus  mice  tliat  wduld  liavc  lirnokcil 
'J'lie  I'-lL-nial  Dvvil  tn  l<ce[)  his  state  in  Rdine 
.\s  easily  as  a  kiiiL; — 

[iiliiis  C',rsdJ\  i.,  2  Shakcs/^eaiw 

would  require  an  upward  and  forward  gesture  ;  because 
in  it  Satan  is  concei\'ed  of  as  a  foe  of  overwhelming  force, 
whom  one  is  facing,  therefore,  as  one  ph}-sically  above 
and  before  the  s})eaker,  and  not  by  any  means  below  or 
behind  him. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  shapes  assumed  by  the  hand  in 
the  place  where  the  gesture  is  struck.  There  may  be  said 
to  be  three  of  these  shapes,  namel\-,  that  of  the  fist,  of  the 
finger,  and  of  the  ex})Osed  i)alm.  These  all  seem  to  inter- 
pret the  gesture  mentall}'  l)\'  adding  significance  to  its 
mode  of  emphasis.     \\'e  shall   find   that  they  represent, 


234  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

respectively,  vital  or  physical,  mental  or  interpretive,  and 
motive  or  emotive  emphasis. 

Of  the  truth  of  these  statements  there  can  be  no  doubt 
in  the  mind  of  one  who  thinks  of  them.  All  must  recog- 
nise that  the  fist,  the  broadest,  roundest  form  that  the 
hand  can  assume,  represents,  as  nearly  as  any  shape  pos- 
sible for  it,  vital  and  physical  emphasis,  /.  c,  will-power 
applied  to  the  impression  of  ideas.  Just  as  a  fist  threat- 
ens with  a  power  greater  than  one's  own,  if  held  above 
one's  head  ;  and  with  one's  own  power,  if  held  on  a  level 
with  one's  breast,  so  it  manifests  strength  of  conviction 
and  a  determination  to  pound  the  truth  into  an  oppo- 
nent, if  made  in  connection  with  a  downward  gesture  of 
emphasis. 

Equally  evident  is  the  meaning  of  the  pointing  finger. 
It  is  the  sharpest  form  that  the  hand  can  assume,  and, 
according  to  what  has  been  said,  should  represent  inter- 
pretive mentality.  This  it  undoubtedly  docs.  When  we 
point  to  an  object,  we  do  so  not  as  an  exhibition  of  will 
or  emotion,  but  of  thought.  Nor  do  we  wish  others  to  do 
anything  beyond  concentrating  their  thought  upon  it. 
This  is  certainly  true  of  the  finger  gesture  wherever  used 
descriptively,  whether  it  point  downward  (see  two  figures 
in  Fig.  36,  page  231),  upward  (see  one  figure  in  Fig.  37, 
page  233),  or  to  one  side  (see  Fig.  38,  page  235).  This  is 
true  even  when  made  with  all  but  the  forefinger  clinched 
into  an  unmistakable  fist ;  though  the  fist  causes  the 
gesture  to  stigmatise  and  denounce  with  a  decidedly  physi- 
cal and  forcible  effect.  When  used  as  a  gesture  of  empha- 
sis, too,  the  finger  is  interpretive.  It  directs  attention  to 
the  small,  delicate,  and  subtle  points  of  conceptions,  argu- 
ments, or  series  of  facts  upon  which  the  speaker  wishes 
to  concentrate  not  the  energies  or  emotions  of   himself, 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  GESTURES. 


OD 


or  his  audience,  but  their  powers  of  analytic  thought.  In 
I'^'ig-  39»  below,  the  finger  on  the  chin  indicates  that  the 
man  is  analj-sing  in  order  to  understand  exactly  what 
course  of  action  his  will — represented  by  his  chin — is  to 
choose  or  reject. 

Last  of  all,  we  have  the  gesture  with  the  fingers  and 
thumb  unfolded  from  the  palm,  and  displaying  all   their 


FIG.  38. 


See 


SIDEWARD  FINGER 
GESTURE. 
)ai;cs  234,  237. 


FIG.  39 —REFLECTION. 
See  pat^es  235,  241 , 


length.  According  to  the  principles  on  ])age  228  this 
shape  ought  to  represent  the  motive  or  cmotix'e  attitude. 
The  moment  that  we  examine  closely  the  way  in  which 
the  gesture  is  used,  we  cannot  doubt  that  this  is  precisely 
what  it  does  represent.  There  are  two  forms  of  it, 
namely,  the  cldsii/g,  in  win'ch  the  [)alm  is  averted,  /.  r., 
turned  awa\'  fiom  tlie  l)od\",  where  the  speaker  cannot  sec 
it,  as  in  I^'ig.  40,  page  236,  and  the  o/n^Jiini^,  in  which  the  posi- 
tion is  reversed,  where  the  palm  is  lield  so  that  the  speaker 
can   see   it,  as   in   1^'ig.  41,  page  236.     The  closing'  gesture 


>36 


THE   ESSENTIALS    OF  .ESTHETICS. 


seems  to  push  downward,  upward,  backward,  forward,  or 
sideward,  as  if  to  k'cep  all  external  things  or    thoughts 
from  touching  or  influencing  the  one  who  is  gesturing. 
It  seems  to  close  all  channels  of  communication  between 
^'is^      him  and  the  outside  world.    Notice  how 
If  5i       the  left  hand  of  the  Christ   in    h'ig.   36, 
'Y •■V^&>    page  231  seems  to  separate  him  from  the 
*-Xk'-     ■.-~.<Jf   woman  before  him.   The  ^^/r/z/V/if  gesture 
seems    prepared     to    give    and    receive 
things  or  thoughts  from  every  quarter; 
and  thus  to  oj^e;/  these  channels.   Notice 
the  right  hand  of  the  Christ  in  the  same 
Fig.  36,  page  231.   Both  gestures,  there- 
fore, seem   to  represent  the  motive  or 
emotive  attitude.     To  extend  what  has 
been    said,   the    closing    gesture    being 
used  to  reject,  to  ward  «^ 

CLOSING  GESTURE.      off,  to   dcuv,   wliat  is 
Seepage  235,  unpleasant,     threaten-  ^-~^ 

ing,  or  untruthfid  (no-  >,' >^;  ^7  4^^ 

tice  several  gestures  in  h^ig.  37,  P'^ge^.r"-: 
233),  is  used  descriptively  to  refer  to  any- 
thing hax'ing  these  characteristics,  to 
anything,  therefore,  like  a  storm,  an  ava- 
lanche, a  disgusting  sight,  a  foe,  or  any 
supposed  source  of  plotting  or  hostility 
(see  Fig.  42,  page  237).  For  an  analogous 
reason,  as  applied  to  abstract  thcmght, 
this  gesture  is  used  bv  one  who  is   in  a  fig.  41. —downward 


FIG.  40.— DOWNWARD 


OPENING  GESTURE. 
See  pages  235,  23S. 


mood  to  dogmatise,  to  dictate,  or  to  ex- 
press any  conception,   concerning  which 
he     is    not    in    a    condition    to    recei\-e  sugge^tions  from 
others.       It    indicates,    therefoi'e,    e\'er\'thing   \\-hich    one 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH   GESTURES. 


237 


does  not  care  to  submit  to  others  as  an  open  question, 
a  question  left  for  them  to  decide.  In  accordance 
with  what  was  said  in  the  last  paragraph,  it  closes  the 
channel  of  influence,  as  exerted  by  others,  and  seems 
to  sa\',  simply  :  '"  This  is  my  opinion.  I 
hold  it  irrespecti\'e  of  anything  that 
}-ou  may  hold."  Dei'ived  from  this 
expressional  use  of  the  gesture,  is  a 
secondary  descri^jtive  use  of  it,  according 
to  which  it  is  made  to  refer  to  anything 
which  the  mind  cannot  conceive  to  be 
an  open  cpiestion  for  others  to  think'' 
of  as  they  choose,  therefore  to  any- 
thing which,  if  thought  of  at  all,  must 
be  thought  of  in  only  one  way.  Thus 
"impending  fate,"   or  "  the  laws  control-     pig.  42. -balanced 

ling  the  uniVcrse,"  would  be  indicated  bv    backward  move- 
s' ,  -      MENT  WiTH  Cl-OSINQ 

higlw/c''.s7//i^'' gestures.       ilosDti^  gestures,  gesture. 

too,  would  be  used  when  referring  to  See  pao;es  236, 292. 
any  object  that  to  the  mind's  eye  has 
definite  outlines,  lik'e  a  cliff,  or  a  In.^use,  If  objects  like 
this  be  small,  the  finger  usually  ])oiuts  to  them,  but  the 
youngest  child  ne\'er  points  w  ith  the  palm  up  to  things 
that  ha\-e  definite  outlines.  The  ])alm  is  always  down. 
It  is  not  an  opoi  question  how  one  shall  coiiceix'C  of  a  par- 
ticular lu)rsc  or  dog;  and  so  the  r/^^.v/;/','' gesture  with  the 
index  fmger  shuts  out  all  ajjpeal.  The  mind  of  the 
speaker  cannot  be  satisfied  unless  the  heai'cr  conceix'es  of 
these  objects  ju-t  as  he   does  (h"ig.  3S,  page  235). 

The  opcitiiii:^  gesture  indicates  exactly  the  opposite. 
Being  used  to  welcome  or  inipait  what  is  ])]easant,  inter- 
esting, or  impoi'tant,  it  naturally  I'efers,  in  a  descriptive 
wa\-,  to  anv  thing  or  th(jught  having  these  characteristics, 


THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  yES THE  TICS. 


to  anything  concciv^ed  of,  therefore,  as  being  freely  given 
(see  the  man  in  Fig.  43,  page  238),  or  received  Hke  a  gift  or 
purchase,  or  like  friendship,  joy,  knowledge,  prosperity, 
or  blessedness.  As  accompanying  an  expression  of  abstract 
thought,  tliis  gesture  is  in  place  whenever  one  submits  an 

opinion  as  an  opoi  ques- 
tion for  others  to  con- 
sider and  to  decide  as 
they  may  deem  fit.  It 
is  the  gesture,  there- 
fore, of  inquiry,  persua- 
sion, and  appeal  (Fig. 
41,  page  236).  "Thc_\- 
should  be  put  to  death," 
uttered  with  the  closiii^i^ 
gesture,  means  :  "  This 
is  my  opinion,  and  I 
hold  it  irrespective  of 
anything  that  }-ou  ma\- 
think  about  it.  "  The 
same  words,  uttered 
with  the  (>f>c /ling 'gesture 
mean :  "  This  is  my 
opinion  ;  do  you  not, 
should  you  not,  in  view 
of  all  the  arguments 
that  I  ha\'e  used,  agree 
See  pages  03S,  239,  243.  ,,.iti^     „5^.  p "       Derived 

from  this  expressional  use  of  the  opciiiiiir  gestui'c,  is 
a  seconchuy  descripti\'e  use  of  it,  causing  it  to  refer  to 
an\-thing  of  a  doubtful  and  indefinite  nature,  which  it  is 
an  open  cjuestion  for  others  to  think  of  as  they  choose.  It 
would  be  used  in  mentioning  a  "  smiling  country"  and  a 


J 


FIQ.43.      PROPOSITION  OF  MARRIAGE. 
D.  CHODOWECKI 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  GESTURES.        239 


"sunny  landscape."     In  conceiving  of  these,  the  speaker 
does  not  have  in  mind,  nor  does   he  wish  the  hearer  to 
have  in  mind,  any  fixed  or  definite  object.     Imagination 
can  fill  in  the  outlines  as  it  chooses,  and  the  gesture  in- 
dicates  this  fact.     So  "  liberty,"  "  progress,"  and  "  blessed- 
ness "  receive  the    high  opening  gesture,    partly   because 
they  are  always  welcome,  yet  partly,  too,  because  the  re- 
sults of  them  may  manifest  any  one  of  a  thousand  different 
effects,  which  the  mind  of  the  listener  is  left  free  to  conjure 
according     to    his     fancy 
(Fig.  44,  page  239).     The 
benediction  after  religious 
%^  services  in  church,  as  given 
with    the    closing   gesture, 
corresponding  to  the    po- 
sition in  Fig.  45,  page  239, 
f;  '  is    ritualistic.      It    imparts 
•jj;- constrannng     grace.        iVs 
'/■      given     with     the     opening 
gesture,  corresponding  to 
0  -  the    position     in    l^'ig.  44, 
FIG.  44.-UPWARD    page  239,  it  is  evangelical. 
OPENING  GESTURE,   j^    ,,,iicit.s    iuspiriu g  gracc. 

See  ],a^'es2  39,  243  ; 

00  the  liand  ot  the  wo- 
man accepting  the  offer  of 
marriage  in  h^'g.  43,  page  238,  not  only  indicates  embar- 
rassment through  angularity  of  elbow  and  wrist  ;  it  also 
imparts,  without  intention,  the  information  tliat  she  is  the 
one  wlio  will  not  yii'ld,  but  will  rule  and  dictate  when  the 
wedding  has  bce'U  consummated.  The  pointing  finger, 
t(jo,  when  the  palm  is  in  the  position  of  an  opiiiing  ges- 
ture, docs  not  mean  the  same  as  wlien  it  is  in  the  position 
of  the  closDig  gesture.      In  the  former  case  it  does  ncjt 


F!Q.  45.— UPWARD 

CLOSING  GESTURE. 

Sec  passes  239,  24; 

292. 


240  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  yKSTHETICS. 

point  merely  to  definite  objects  ;  it  points  to  open  pos- 
sibilities. What  is  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  first 
man  at  the  left  of  the  Christ  in  Fig.  36,  page  231,  is  to  ask 
a  question,  ••  What  shall  be  done  in  \ie\v  of  that  to  which 
I  point?"  What  is  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  man 
pointing  upward  at  the  right  of  Fig.  37,  page  233,  is  to  in- 
dicate a  source  from  which  one  can  receive  inspiration  ; 
and  he  is  beckoning — asking  others  to  consider  it.  The 
motive  is  thus  that  of  the  opening  gesture. 

A  few  sentences  more  will  embody  all  that  needs  to  be 
added  with  reference  to  the  meanings  of  the  moxements 
of  the  hand  while  being  conveyed  by  the  arm  to  the  place 
towards  Mliich  the  gesture  is  aimed.  All  these  mo\'e- 
ments,  of  course,  as  follows  from  what  has  been  said, 
whether  suggesting  forms  of  cur\'cs,  straight  lines,  or 
angles,  give  expression,  in  a  general  \\:\\\  to  the  moti\-e 
or  emotive  nature  ;  the  degrees  of  \-itality  entering  into 
this  being  best  indicated  by  the  action  of  the  shoulders; 
the  degrees  of  interpretive  intent,  by  the  adjustments  of 
the  wrist  and  the  hand  and  firigers  below  it  ;  and  the 
degrees  of  the  operating  motive  pure  and  simple  by  the 
action  of  the  elbows.  Notice  that  a  hint  is  usuall}-  con- 
veyed by  their  nudge. 

These  mo\-ements,  moreover.  b\-  which  are  meant  now, 
those  that  are  {)reparator\-  to  the  gestui'e,  ii'respcctive  of 
the  place  to  which  the  hand  is  con\e_\-cd,  ma_\-  be  made 
with  a  general  direction  away  from  the  bod}',  toward  the 
bod)-,  or  both  away  from  it  and  also  toward  it.  When 
used  descriptivel)-,  they  refer,  respecti\'el\-,  to  other  things 
than  self,  to  self,  or  to  both  ;  /.  c,  to  the  relations  between 
other  things  and  self.  Used  mainly  for  emphasis,  the 
hands,  when  mo\'ingaway  from  the  body,  represent  a  full. 
unembarrassed,  and,  in  this  sense,  instincti\e  expression 


REPKESENTATIO.V    TH ROUGH   GESTURES. 


241 


of  the  actuating  motive.  They  indicate,  like  the  falh'ng 
inflection  of  the  voice,  that  the  mind  has  come  to  a  posi- 
tive and  decisive  conclusion.  Wlien  the  hands  move  to- 
v/ard  the  body,  the  gestures  are  reflective  ;  they  represent 
something  in  thought  that  checks  the  expression  of  the 
motive,  something  physical  in  phase,  if  they  end  near  the 
abdomen  (Fig.  46,  page  241),  mental  if  near  the  head  (Fig. 
39,  page  235),  and  emotional  or  moral  if  near  the  heart 
(Fig.  36,  page  231);   they  indicate,  like  the  rising  inflec- 


FIG.  46.— AN  ATTACK. 
See  i)ages  241,  i'43. 


FIG.  47.— BOY   SURPRISED. 
See  pat^es  241,  242,  243. 


tion  of  the  voice,  that  the  mind  is  tliinkiiig,  but  has  come 
to  no  conclusion;  that  it  is  asking  a  ([Licstion  ;  tliat  it  is 
influenced  by  doubt,  ])crliaps,  or  surpiise  (notice  the  re- 
presentation of  this  in  Vv^.  47,  page  24  I  i  ;  tlie  mood  is,  at 
least,  anticipati\-e  and  indccisixe.  When  tlie  hands  move 
both  from  the  body  and  also  toward  it  as  in  I'^'g.  47,  or, 
as  is  tlie  c,i>e  in  the  mo^t  common  emphatic  oiMtoricai 
gesture,  both  toward  it  and  fi'om  it,  they  represent  a  com- 
bination of  tlie  two  conceptions  aliwidx-  mentioned. 
The  effect  then  is  exactly  parallel  to  that  of  tlu:  (loui)le 
16 


242  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  /ESTHETICS. 

meaning  in  the  circumflex  inflection  (see  the  author's 
"Orator's  Manual,"  pp.  56  to  59).  If  the  gestures  begin 
with  the  !iiovement  toward  the  bod}',  this  indicates  that 
the  man  has  asked  a  question  ;  and  if  they  end  with  the 
movement  away  from  it,  that  then  in  his  own  mind,  as  a 
result  of  deliberate  and  careful  consideration  of  arguments 
pro  and  con,  he  has  answered  the  question.  The  first 
direction  shows  that  there  has  been  indecision,  the  second 
that  he  has  come  to  a  conclusion  ;  the  first  that  he  has 
investigated,  the  second  that  he  lias  reached  a  definite 
result.  The  suggestion  of  both  facts  in  this  gesture  causes 
it  to  convey  an  impression  of  breadth  of  thought  as  well 
as  of  intensity. 

If  the  order  of  the  movements  be  reversed,  as  often  in 
dramatic  gestures  (Fig.  47,  page  241),  of  course  their 
meaning  is  reversed.  But  whatever  be  their  order,  it  is 
evident  tliat  mo\-ements  preparatory  to  starting  the  final 
stroke  of  a  gesture,  in  the  degree  in  which  they  are  con- 
tinued through  a  long  time  or  cover  a  large  s[)ace,  enhance 
the  re[)resentati\'e  effect,  inasmuch  as  the\'  indicate  thus 
the  degree  in  which  the  mind  ha.-  reached  the  opinions 
which  it  expresses  as  a  result  of  weighing  the  possibilities 
both  in  favour  of  them  and  against  them. 

So  much  with  reference  to  the  dircctioi  of  the  move- 
ments. A  few  words  more  now  with  reference  to  their 
character.  Concerning  this  a  little  observation  will  reveal 
that  movements  which  are  spontaneous  and  unconscious, 
because  uninfluenced  or  unimpeded  by  interruptions  that 
come  from  without,  all  tend  to  assume  the  forms  of  free, 
large,  graceful  curves.  See  h^igs.  9,  page  97;  23,  page  170  ; 
26,  page  217  :  45,  page  239;  54,  page  289.  But  in  the  degree 
in  which  a  man's  expression  is  a  result  of  nieiital  calcula- 
tion, made  to  meet  emergencies  from  without,  especially 


MEANINGS  OF  OUTLINES.  243 

in  the  degree  in  which  these  conditions  check,  impede,  and 
embarrass  him,  and  make  him  conscious  of  this  fact,  or 
self-conscious,  as  we  say, — liis  bearinc^  is  stiff,  constrained, 
and  awkward,  imparting  to  all  his  movements  a  tendency 
to  assume  the  forms  of  straight  lines  and  angles.  See  the 
woman  in  Fig.  43,  page  238  ;  also  the  positions  in  Fig.  37, 
page  233.  But  sharp  angles  and  short  curves  will  give  way 
to  straighter  lines  and  longer  curves  in  the  degree  in 
which  outside  conditions  do  not  wholly  overcome  one's 
spontaneity,  as  in  exerting  the  moral  influence  of  confi- 
dent assertion  (Fig.  23,  page  i/O),  or  enthusiastic  persua. 
sion  (Fig.  44,  page  239).  But  in  the  degree  in  which  he  is 
conscious  of  opposition,  whether  this  be  mental,  as  in 
Fig.  18,  page  122,  or  material,  as  in  Fig.  47,  ])age  241,  or 
both  together,  as  in  the  two  figures  at  the  front  of  Fig. 
lil >  l)age233,  or  as  in  fighting  (Fig.  46,  page  241),  this  con- 
sciousness will  double  up  his  frame  and  throw  his  neck, 
elbows,  knees,  and  hips  into  shapes  that  will  make  his 
form  the  best  possible  representation  of  what  can  be 
described  by  only  the  term  angularity  ;  jx't  from  this  ap- 
pearance in  such  cases  curves  are  never  entirely  absent. 

So  much  for  the  meanings  of  outlines,  whether  pro- 
duced by  the  hand  or  assumed  b}'  the  boch'.  Now  let  us 
notice  their  meanings  as  manifested  not  in  the  human 
form  but  in  the  inanimate  appearances  of  natui'e  surround- 
ing it.  The  curx'c  has  been  ascribed  to  the  physically 
normal  action  of  the  human  form.  Is  tliere  any  truth  in 
the  supposition  that  the  same  in  natural  scener}'  ma}' be 
a>cribc:(l  to  pliysicalK'  normal  action  ?  Why  should  there 
not  be?  Tlie  eye  itself  is  circular,  and  the  field  (jf  vision 
which  it  \ic\\s,  at  an\'  one  monuMit,  al\\a\'s  ap[')ears  to  be 
circular.  So  does  the  horizon  and  the  zenitli,  and  so,  too, 
do   nKj.-it   of  the   cjbjects   that   they   contain  —  the   hea\-ing 


244  T^^^^   ESSENTIALS   OF  MSTHETICS. 

hill,  the  rising  smoke  or  vapour,  the  rolling  wave,  the  gush- 
ing fountain,  the  rippling  stream,  even  the  bubbles  of  its 
water  and  the  pebbles  of  its  channel,  and  every  tree,  plant, 
and  animal,  whether  at  rest  or  in  motion.  For  this  reason, 
curves,  wherever  seen,  necessarily  suggest  more  or  less  of 
that  which  is  normal.  See  the  forms  at  the  right  of  Fig. 
48,  i)age  245. 

The  straight  line  with  its  accompanying  angles  we  have 
found  to  be  produced  b\'  a  man  chiefly  as  a  result  of  men- 
tal action.  How  is  it  with  similar  effects  in  the  appear- 
ances surrounding  him  ?  Do  not  rectangles  with  their 
straight,  parallel  sides  and  necessitated  angles,  as  in  build- 
ings and  in  so  many  other  objects  made  by  a  man,  invari- 
ably suggest  results  of  his  constructive,  and,  therefore,  of 
his  mental  action  ?  Nor  are  such  suggestions  confined 
to  objects  revealing  that  a  man  has  reallj^  interfered 
with  the  action  of  nature.  By  wa\'  of  association,  the 
horizontal  hilltop,  the  sharpl}-  perpendicular  cliff,  the 
pointed  peak,  cause  us  to  think  and  often  to  sa}- that  they 
look  precisely  as  if  a  man  had  been  at  work  upon  them, 
levelling  or  blasting.  J^'ew  natural  objects  have  outlines 
absolutely  straight  or  angular.  For  this  reason,  in  the 
degree  in  which  they  are  so,  the  impression  naturally 
produced  by  curves,  which  is  that  of  a  growth  outward 
from  normal  vitalit}-  within,  is  lessened.  We  feel  that 
life  has  in  some  wa\'  been  literally  blasted.  See  the  forms 
at  the  left  (;f  h^'g.  4(S,  page  245.  As  a  rule,  it  is  the  great 
convulsions  of  nature,  whether  produced  by  fire,  frost, 
wind,  or  eartlKpiake,  that  leave  behind  them,  if  their  pro- 
<rrcss  can  be  traced  at  all,  such  results  of  cr\  stallisiiifj, 
cracl-cing,  and  rc-iiding  as  are  manifested  in  outlines  of  this 
cliaraclei".  ^Xgaiii,  w  lu-n  lines  drawn  b\'  men  are  broken, 
and   also   cur\'ed    and    crossed,   they   necessarily   suggest 


';/' 


246  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  yES THE  TICS. 

the  complex.  Because  complex,  they  are  perplexing ; 
and  provided  they  be  nevertheless  disposed  in  such  ways  as 
to  render  the  fact  of  some  design  indisputable,  they  are 
exciting,  as  far  as  lines  can  be,  to  the  imagination,  con- 
stantly stimulating  it,  as  they  do,  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
their  mode  of  arrangement.  Such  being  their  effects, 
one  would  expect  to  find  the  natural  forms  characterised 
by  them  proving  more  exciting  to  the  emotions  than  those 
already  considered.  And  when  we  examine  the  appear- 
ances about  us,  is  not  this  exactly  what  we  do  find  ?  Is 
it  not  when  complicated  curves  and  angles  outline  natural 
trifles  that  they  fascinate  and  make  men  imitate  them  in 
their  curios?  Is  it  not  when  curves,  straight  lines,  and 
angles  join  in  natural  forms  of  grander  import,  when  the 
tree  and  bush  are  wreathed  about  the  precipice,  when 
the  dome-like  mountain  and  the  rolling  cloud  lift  above 
the  sharp  peak  and  the  cloven  crag,  and  far  below  them 
lies  the  flat  plain  or  the  lake, — is  it  not  then,  in  connection 
with  such  combinations,  that  the  most  exciting  appeal  is 
made  through  the  emotions  to  the  imagination  ?  See  Fig. 
48,  page  245. 

A  good  way,  perhaps,  of  discovering  the  representative 
capabilities  of  these  different  appearances,  is  to  recall  the 
use  that  is  made  of  them  by  the  landscape  gardener.  Is 
it  not  a  fact,  in  case  he  desire  to  direct  attention  to 
the  beauty  of  nature  in  itself,  /.  c,  to  the  capabilities  of 
nature  with  the  least  possible  suggestion  of  the  interven- 
tion of  a  human  mind, — that  in  this  case  his  plans  will 
develop  into  gradually  rising  mounds  and  circuitous 
drives,  winding  among  trees  and  shrubs  planted  in  clus- 
ters but  not  in  rows?  On  the  contrary,  if  he  desire  to 
])roduce  a  distincth'  different  impression,  causing  thought 
to  revert  from  nature  to  man,  either  to  the  artist  who  has 


O       0) 


248  THE  ESSENTIALS   OE  .-ESTHETICS. 

arranged  things  as  they  are,  or  to  the  resident  or  visitor 
for  whose  convenience  or  guidance  they  have  been  so 
arranged,  then  will  he  not  plan  for  distinctly  different 
effects,  as  in  the  long  avenue  bordered  with  its  rows  of 
trees,  or  in  the  terrace,  or  the  hedge,  or  the  flower  garden 
with  straight  and  rectangular  pathways?  Or,  once  more, 
if  he  desire  to  produce  more  emotional  impressions  by 
means  of  which  the  observers  may  be  drawn  more  into 
s}-mpathy  with  his  designs  and  the  ingenuity  of  them, 
will  he  not  make  more  use  of  variety  and  contrast,  com- 
bining the  winding  walks  of  the  ramble  with  sharp  angles, 
perpendicular  rocks  with  rounded  moss  banks,  or  shooting 
cataracts  with  still  pools? 

Is  it  strange  that  similar  principles  should  apply  to 
painting  and  sculpture  ?  Charles  l^lanc,  in  his  "  Grammar 
of  Painting  and  Engraving,"  translated  by  K.  N.  Uoggett, 
says  :  "  In  the  choice  of  the  great  lines,  a  certain  character 
should  be  dominant.  .  .  .  Straight  or  curved,  hori- 
zontal or  vertical,  parallel  or  divergent,  all  the  lines  have 
a  secret  relation  to  the  sentiment."  John  Ruskin,  too, 
recalling  several  instances  in  which  prominent  features  of 
certain  of  Turner's  pictures  are  arranged  along  a  frame- 
work of  curx'cd  lines,  speaks  of  these  as  being  the  ones 
most  frecjuently  found  in  nature.  ''  In  the  spectacles  of 
the  world,"  hays  Charles  Blanc,  in  the  work  just  quoted, 
'■  as  in  the  human  figure,  in  painting,  or  in  architecture, 
the  straight  lines  correspond  to  a  sentiment  of  austerity 
and  force,  and  give  to  a  composition  in  which  they  are  re- 
peated, a  grave,  imposing,  rigid  aspect."  (See  h^ig.  49, 
page  247.)  "  Witness  '  The  Testament  of  Eudamidas.'  In 
it,  ]*oussin  has  repeated  the  horizontal  lines.  Lying  upon 
his  death-bed  the  citizen  of  Corinth  forms  the  dominant 
line  <■)[  the  arrangement.     The  lance  of  the  hero  repeats 


250  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  ALSTHETICS. 

this  line,  and,  prostrate  like  him,  seems  condemned  to  the 
repose  of  his  master,  and  to  affirm  a  second  time  his 
death."  Again  referring  to  the  vertical  lines,  he  says: 
"Look  now  at  'The  Life  of  Saint  Bruno,'  by  Lesueur. 
.  The  solemnity  of  the  religious  sentiment,  which  is 
an  ascending  aspiration,  is  expressed  in  it  by  the  dominant 
repetition  and  parallelism  of  the  verticals."'  Once  more, 
in  language  applying  accurately  to  only  what  we  have 
here  termed  mixed  lines,  consisting  of  both  curves  and 
angles,  though  often  angularit\'  alone  is  attributed  to 
them,  he  says  :  "  If  it  be  necessary  to  represent  a  terrible 
idea, — for  instance  that  of  the  last  judgment, 
such  subjects  demand  lines  vehement,  impetuous,  and 
mox'ing.  Michael  Angelo  covers  the  wall  of  the  Sistine 
chapel  with  contrasting  and  flamboyant  lines.  P(Hissin 
torments  and  twists  his  in  the  pictures  of  '  Pyrrhus  Saved  ' 
and  '  The  Sabines,'  and  the  linear  modes  emj)loyed  by 
these  masters  are  examples  of  the  law  to  be  followed." 

"  \\\  the  ancient  Greek  sculptures,"  sa\-s  Long  in  his 
"Art,  its  Laws  and  the  Reasons  for  Them,"  "a  corre- 
spondence between  the  disposition  of  the  figure  and  the 
sentiment  of  the  subject  will  always  be  found, 
Minerva's  position  being  perpendicular  and  her  drapery 
descending  in  l<jng  uninterrupted  lines,  while  a  thousand 
amorous  cur\'es  embrace  the  limbs  of  Flora  and  Venus; — 
the  plain,  the  simple,  the  dignified,  and  the  intellectual 
being  the  sentiment  of  the  one  ;  the  light,  the  ga\-,  and  the 
sensual  the  sentiment  of  the  other.  Ar.d  if  the  sentiment 
which  animates  them  be  of  a  very  exciting  and  passion- 
ate character,  the  mo\'ements  become  more  quick,  and  the 
forms  more  angularised."  (See  Fig.  50,  page  249.)  "  It 
is  in  obedience  to  this  ])rinciple,"  he  goes  on  to  sa}',  "  that 
Raphael  acted  when,  in  his  cartoon  of  '  The   Delivery  of 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH  OUTLINES.  25  I 

the  Keys  to  St.  Peter,'  he  employed,  as  did  the  sculptor  of 
Minerva,  the  influence  of  simple  forms,"  /.  c,  simple  as 
distinguished  from  mixed,  "to  express  and  produce  the 
sentiment  of  the  character  introduced  and  the  natural  ef- 
fects of  that  scene;  and  the  same,  too,  in  the  'Ananias' 
[see  Fig.  37,  page  233]  among  the  figures  distributing  and 
receiving  alms,  whilst,  in  obedience  to  this  rule,  he  has  re- 
sorted to  the  adverse  system  of  angular  forms  and  abrupt 
contrasts,"  /.  e.,  to  mixed  lines,  curved  and  straight,  "to 
portray  distress  and  convulsion  in  the  dying  man,  and  as- 
tonishment and  dismay  in  the  figures  that  immediately 
surround  him." 

Simple  imitation,  even  aside  from  any  desire  to  repre- 
sent, will  usually  cause  a  close  observer  to  regard  these 
principles  when  depicting  natural  scenery  or  human  fig- 
ures; but  they  are  equally  applicable  when  constructing 
buildings.  The  most  ordinarily  accepted  classification 
made  of  the  different  styles  of  these  is  according  to  their 
bridging  of  openings  or  spaces  by  straight  lines,  curves,  or 
angles,  which  three  methods  are  supposed  to  indicate  the 
differences  between  the  architecture  of  the  (ircek  hori- 
zontal entablature,  of  the  Byzantine  or  Romanesque  round 
arcli,  and  of  the  Gothic  pointed  arch,  l^ut  notice  that 
straight  lines  abound  in  all  these  forms,  the  horizontal 
ones  in  Greek  architecture  (  I*'ig.  28,  page  219)  being  no 
more  prominent  than  the  \'ertical  ones  in  Gothic  archi- 
tecture (  I^'ig.  33,  page  226).  Jt  is  well  to  observe,  howex'cr, 
that  of  all  architecture  appealing  to  the  emotions  the  latter 
does  this  in  the  most  powerful!}-  effective  wa\'.  The  reason 
for  this,  not  often  n<)ticed,  is  that  in  the  (jotliic  alone  is  it 
possible  to  blend  all  the  possibilities  of  outline.  Some- 
times tliere  are  no  appai'entl\'  cur\'ed  forms  at  all  in  (ii-eck 
buildings  (see   T^ig.  28,  [Kige  219J.      S(jmetimes,  too,  there 


252  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  ESTHETICS. 

arc  no  sliarp  forms  in  l^yzantine  or  the  allied  Romanesque 
buildiiigs  (see  Fig.  34,  page  227).  But  in  Gothic  l)uildings 
there  is  invariabU*  a  blending  of  both.  Moreo\er,  as  if 
also  to  emphasise  the  existence  of  both,  each  forn;  is  de- 
veloped to  excess,  the  curves  being  made  part  cularly 
round  ar.d  the  angles  particularly  sharp  (see  Fig  33,  page 
226).  Now.  to  apply  the  principles  that  we  have  oeen  con- 
sidering: if,  in  architecture,  the  predominating  lines  be 
horizontal,  is  it  not  true  that,  combined  with  ti'.e  serious- 
ness and  dignitx'  suggested  by  straight  lines  they  also 
represent  repose  ?  (See  Fig.  28,  page  2  19,  and  P^ig.  2  r,  j^age 
127.)  Is  it  not  true,  also,  that  curved  architectural  forms 
rei)resent  that  which  is  simple  and  graceful,  because  nat- 
ural? The  stone  arch  and  the  arching  ceiling  ccrtaitdy 
may  remind  us  of  natural  methods  of  suj)port  in  a  sense 
not  true  of  objects  wholly  flat  or  angular;  nor  are  many 
constructions  natural  to  beasts,  birds,  or  insects,  of  the 
latter  character.  Is  it  not  true,  too,  that  when  the  curve 
in  ceiling  or  dome  is  used  in  connection  with  straight  lines 
that  emphasise  vcrticality,  we  have  suggestions,  combined 
with  seriousness  and  dignity  of  effect,  of  that  highest  phase 
of  grace  represented  in  elevation  and  aspiration  of  soul? 
See  Fig.  51,  page  266,  and  Fig.  79,  page  354.  Finally 
when  we  look  at  a  Gothic  building  in  which,  as  in  Fig.  33, 
page  226,  cur\-es,  angles,  and  straight  lines  are  used  in  ex- 
cess of  what  are  needed,  and  many  arc  shaped  alike  evi- 
dently for  the  purpose  of  ornament  alone,  and  to  enhance, 
fjy  way  of  correspondence,  the  appearance  of  artistic  unity, 
then  is  it  not  true  that  the  forms  rep-esent  a  sjiecial  a])i)eal 
to  the  a.\sthetic  emotions.  "  See  how  Sir  W^alter  Scott," 
says  Ruskin  in  his  '"Lectures  on  /Xrchitecture  and  Art," 
"  cannot  e\'en  get  through  a  description  of  Highland  scen- 
ery without  helps  from  the  idea: 


REPRESENTATION    THROUGH   COLOUR.  253 

'  Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire 
Was  batlied  in  floods  of  living  fire.' 

That  strange  and  thrilling  interest  with  which  such  words 
strike  you  as  are  in  any  wise  connected  with  Gothic  archi- 
tecture, as,  for  instance,  vault,  arch,  spire,  pinnacle, 
battlement,  porch,  and  myriads  of  such  others — words 
everlastingly  poetical  and  powerful  wherever  they  occur, — 
is  a  most  true  and  certain  index  that  the  things  themselves 
are  delightful  to  you,  and  will  ever  continue  to  be  so." 

For  the  reason  suggested  on  page  214  that  which,  in 
the  arts  of  sight,  corresponds  to  quality  in  the  arts  of 
sound,  is  undoubtedly  colour,  interpreted  in  that  broad 
sense  in  which  it  includes  not  only  the  hues  used  in  paint- 
ing, but  the  white  or  neutral  tints  characterising  the 
effects  of  statues  or  buildings.  Let  us  notice  now  the  re- 
presentative possibilities  of  colour.  We  can  best  come  to 
understand  these  by  considering  what  colour  represents 
in  extreme  cases.  When  there  is  no  light  there  is  no 
colour.  When  there  is  little  light,  we  can  see  forms,  but 
not  colours,  except  as  they  seem  to  be  very  dim  and  dark. 
In  this  condition,  the  mind  is  not  greatly  interested  in 
them  nor  aroused  to  thought  by  them  ;  so  far  as  they 
affect  the  a[)pearance  of  nature,  they  are  not,  as  a  rule, 
satisfactory,  interesting,  cheering,  or  inspiring,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  they  sometimes  cause  depression  and  even 
solicitude.  With  more  light,  however,  the  outlines  and 
colours  become  more  visibk:,  bright,  and  varied  ;  and  not 
only  the  satisfaction  hut  tin;  (>\(:itat ion  derivable  from 
them  is  increased?  These  effects  continue  to  be  en- 
hanced u[)  to  the  time,  if  it  e\'cr  arri\-e,  when  the  colours 
are  no  longer  distinguishable,  for  the  reason  that  the  light 
has  become  too  dazzling.  lint  at  tliis  ])oint  the  disa- 
greeableuess     (jf    the    elfect    is    produced,    not     because 


254  "^^^   ESSENTIALS   OE  AlSTHETICS. 

attention  is  aroused  too  slightly,  but  too  greatly,  as,  for 
instance,  by  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  or  by  a  flash  of 
lightning.  In  all  cases,  however,  even  in  these  last,  no- 
tice the  additional  excitation  to  the  emotions  produced 
by  variety.  Sunlight  or  lightning  is  never  so  vivid  as 
when  made  to  contrast  sharply  with  absolute  darkness,  as 
in  a  cave  or  a  cloud.  Nor  is  a  bright  red  or  yellow 
ever  so  effective  as  when  placed  directly  against  a  dull 
blue-green  or  indigo.  We  may  sa\',  therefore,  that,  as  a 
rule,  dark  colours  or  shades  of  them  which  result  when 
the  colours,  as  determined  by  the  spectrum,  arc  mixed 
with  black,  as  also  unvarying  colours,  are  less  exciting  to 
the  emotions  than  bright  and  varied  ones. 

Before  illustrating  these  statements,  let  us  notice  an- 
other fact.  When,  in  a  screen  shutting  out  the  light  from 
a  darkened  room,  we  make  a  narrow  slit,  and  through 
this  allow  the  light  to  enter,  and,  receiving  this  light  on  a 
prism,  separate  the  one  ray  of  light  into  various  partial 
rays  of  the  same,  all  the  colours  of  the  spectrum  will  ap- 
pear, placed  one  after  another,  on  a  white  wall  opposite 
the  window.  But  th.e  red  colour  will  appear  nearest  the 
place  on  which  the  white  light  would  have  fallen,  had  Ave 
used  no  prism,  and,  fa/'thcr  and  farther  from  this  place,  will 
appear,  respectively  in  this  order,  orange,  yellow,  green, 
blue,  and  bluish  purple.  For  this  reason  the  first  three  of 
these  colours — red,  orange,  and  yellow, — because,  as  some 
say,  more  nearly  allied  to  light  as  well  as  to  the  fire  and 
heat  naturally  associated  with  the  source  of  light,  are 
termed  bright  or  warm  ;  and  the  last  three — green,  blue, 
and  purple — are  termed  dark  or  cold.  The  use  of  the 
terms  bright  and  dark  shows  the  close  connection  between 
light  and  darkness  as  influencing  not  only  the  degrees 
of  colour,  of  wnich   mention  was    made  in  the  preceding 


MEANINGS   OF  COLOURS.  255 

paragraph,  but  also  the  ki?ids  of  colour;  and  the  use 
of  the  terms  warm  and  cold  show  the  subtle  connection 
between  the  effects  of  temperature  and  of  colour  of  which 
mention  was  made  on  page  214. 

For  the  purpose  not  merely  of  indicating  the  unity  of 
method  in  different  parts  of  this  system,  but  also  for  the 
purpose  of  accomplishing  that  for  which  this  unity  of 
method  is  intended  to  be  serviceable,  it  seems  well  in  this 
place  to  try  to  interpret  the  meanings  of  the  colours 
through  what  we  know  (see  pages  205  and  206)  of  the 
meanings  of  the  different  elocutionary,  musical,  or  poetic 
tones.  Of  these  tones,  the  normal  and  orotund  ^xq  musi- 
cal and  unmixed.  It  will  be  shown  presently  that  the 
two,  respectively,  correspond  to  the  cold  and  the  warm 
colours.  The  aspirate — i.e.,  the  whisper — is  an  absence 
of  tone.  This  seems  to  correspond,  when  unpleasant  in 
its  effects,  to  an  absence  of  colour  as  in  blaek,  and,  when 
pleasant,  to  its  absence  as  in  wJiite.  The  pectoral  and 
guttural  ioncy.  are  always  mixed,  sometimes  with  different 
qualities  of  musical  tone,  and  alxva^-s  with  more  or  less  of 
the  hostile  aspirate.  For  reasons  to  be  given  presently,  this 
fact  is  sufficient  to  suggest  a  corresi)ondence  between  the 
pectoral  'AW^X  the  cold  colours  when  mixed  with  black,  and 
between  the  guttural  and  the  z^'arin  colours  when  mixed 
with  black. 

We  \\'\\\  take  up,  first,  the  distinction  between  the 
normal — sometimes  called  the  pure — tone  and  the  oro- 
tund. In  elocution,  tlie  former  is  not  necessaril)-  a  culti- 
vated tone,  but  the  L.tter,  the  orotuiul,  is.  The  former 
tluTc'frire  suggests  the  natural,  and  the  latter  the  artistic. 
Is  not  the  same  U'wv.  with  reference  to  the  classes  of  colour 
to  whicli  these  ha\'e  been  said  to  correspond  ?  Just  as 
the  normal  tone   is  that  of  ordinary   natural    interccnirse, 


256  THE   ESSEiXTIALS   OE  ESTHETICS. 

are  not  the  cold  colours,  the  greens,  blues,  and  purples, 
those  of  ordinary  natural  life  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  for 
nine-tenths  of  all  the  time,  nine-tenths  of  all  the  surfaces 
of  the  globe — /.  r.,  the  lakes,  skies,  hills,  forests,  fields, 
rocks,  distant  and  near — are  robed  in  these  colours?  The 
warmer  colours,  the  reds,  oranges,  and  yellows,  appear  oc- 
casionall}-  in  nature  in  the  sunset  sky,  the  autumn  foliage, 
the  hues  of  flowers,  the  plumage  of  birds,  and  the  coating 
of  animals  ;  but  it  is  remarkable  how  seldom  they  appear 
at  all,  how  little  surface,  comparatively,  they  cover  when 
they  do  appear,  how  infrequently  they  appear  in  their 
full  intensity,  and  how  universally,  when  they  do  appear 
in  this,  they  are  considered  exceptional  and  worthy  of 
remark.  They  certainly  are  not  nature's  normal  colours. 
Man  cannot  dye  an}-thing  bluer  or  greener  than  he  can 
often  see  in  the  sea  and  sky  and  forest ;  but  nowhere 
in  the  world  can  he  raise  a  red  or  orange  flag  that  will 
not  instantl}'  be  recognised  as  something  different  from 
anything  in  nature,  and,  therefore,  as  something  that  is 
signalling  the  presence  of  man.  Hence  the  u^e  of  these 
colours,  especiall}'  of  red,  b}-  sur\"e\  ing  parties,  and  on 
raiiwa\-s,  piers,  and  battle-fields.  Such  colours  are  the 
ones  that  are  most  suggesti\e  of  human  interference.  As 
used  in  art,  therefore,  the\-  are  the  colours  representing 
the  condition  upon  which  the  thought  and  feeling  of  the 
artist  have  had  the  greatest  influence, 

With  these  facts,  however,  we  need  also  to  bear  in  mind 
that  wi)ich  is  a  logical  inference  from  what  was  said  on 
page  254,  namely,  that  all  \-er\-  low  and  uniform  shades, 
even  if  of  \'ell<)n-s,  oranges,  and  reds,  ha\"e  a  quieting 
effect,  and  all  xl-vx  high  and  —  because  contrasts  emphasise 
one  another,  and  must  C(.)ntrasts  of  culd  colours  are  warm^ 

•  Iveii  iir  (it:iiiL;t'  of  -rct-n  or  hlue.      See  l">;iges  2S3  and  370. 


MEANINGS   OF   COLOURS.  2  57 

— all  contrasting  tints,  even  if  of  purples,  blues,  and 
greens,  have  an  exciting  effect.  To  compare  these  con- 
ditions with  those  of  pitch  in  elocution  and  music,  this,  if 
low  and  monotonous,  indicates  what  is  serious,  grave, 
dignified,  and  self-eontrolled,  and,  if  high  and  varied,  the 
opposite.  Does  it  require  an  argument  to  show  how  per- 
fectly these  analogies  are  carried  out  as  applied  to  colours? 
Do  we  not  all  recognise  the  more  exciting  and  exhilarating 
effects  of  these  when  full  of  brightness,  and  also,  in  con- 
nection with  this,  of  contrast?  Who  has  not  noticed  the 
difference  in  influence  between  a  lawn  and  a  flower-bed? 
or  between  a  room  decorated  with  evergreens  and  the 
same  decorated  with  chrysanthemums?  or  between  a  uni- 
formly clouded  gray  sk\',  and  a  sky  lighted  up  with  the 
diversified  glories  of  tne  sunset  r  or  between  the  dulness 
and  monoton)'  of  a  business  street  when  the  shop-entrances 
are  hung  with  dingy  clothing  for  sale,  or  the  sidewalks 
filled  with  people  in  dark  business  suits,  and  the  same 
streets  when  hung  with  bright  and  varied  flags  on  a  gala 
da\',  or  crowded  with  throngs  decked  out  in  the  gay  and 
checkered  trappings  of  a  carnival  or  holiday  parade?  Of 
course,  uiiifcjnnity  of  colour,  like  uniformit}'  of  outline — as 
in  parallelism,— -produces  a  certain  seriousness  and  dignity 
of  effect ;  and  any  procession,  the  members  of  which  are 
dressed  alil^e  and  march  alike,  will  produce  something  of 
these  irr(;>pi:cti\e  of  the  cinality  of  the  colouring,  l^ut 
there  is  a  \'ast  difference  between  the  degree  of  serious- 
ness and  dignity  in  the  effect  of  a  procession  of  priests 
and  nuns  roht'd  in  blaek  or  gray  in  a  funeral  or  at  church, 
and  in  that  of  militia  uniformed  in  bright  colours  on  a  holi- 
day or  in  a  theatre.  In  the  latter  case,  it  is  impossible  to 
conceivH-  that  any  child,  or  a  crowd  of  any  kind,  should 
rcxjuire  explanations,  aside  from  those  suggested  b\' colour 


17 


258  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .FS  THE  TICS. 

alone,  to  arouse  them  to  excitement  and  enthusiasm. 
There  was  philosoph}-  as  well  as  fanc\-,  therefore,  under- 
lying the  former  use  of  red  in  the  costumes  of  soldiers. 
Nothing  in  the  way  of  colour  can  surpass  red  in  effective- 
ness. This  fact  has  been  explained  according  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  association.  It  has  been  said  that  red  is  the  colour 
of  blood  and  of  fire,  and  suggests  them.  But  does  it  sug- 
gest them  to  the  bull  and  other  animals  whom  it  excites 
to  fury?  In  these  cases  does  it  not  act  physically? 
Physicists  agree  that  there  is  no  colour  that  agitates  the 
optic  nerve  so  violently.  There  seem  to  be,  therefore, 
just  as  in  the  case  of  outlines,  principles  both  of  associa- 
tion and  of  nature  which  cause  certain  colours,  and,  to  a 
less  degree,  all  colours,  when  at  their  brightest,  to  be  repre- 
sentative of  emotive  excitation,  and  certain  other  colours, 
and,  to  a  less  degree,  all  colours  in  their  lower  tones,  to  be 
representative  of  the  opposite. 

All  the  great  facts  of  nature  are  felt  long  before  they 
are  formulated.  When  the  man  born  blind  expressed  his 
conception  of  the  colour  red  by  saying  that  it  was  like  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet,  he  uttered  not  a  poetic  but  a  literal 
truth.  Just  as  red  is  the  colour  that  is  farthest  remox'ed 
from  the  ordinary  colours  of  nature,  the  blast  of  the  trum- 
pet is  the  sound  that  is  farthest  removed  from  the  ordinary 
sounds  of  nature.  All  pastoral  sym{)honies  abound  in 
passages  executed  by  the  flutes  and  clarionets,  and  the 
\-iolins  and  other  stringed  instruments.  With  the  music 
produced  by  these,  it  seems  natural  to  associate  the  sounds 
produced  b\-  the  sighing  and  whistling  of  the  wind,  the 
rushing  and  dashing  of  the  waters,  and  the  occasional  pip- 
ing of  a  biixl  and  the  lowing  of  an  animal.  The  drum  and 
cymbal,  too,  ma}-  remind  one  of  the  exceptional  thunder 
of  the  storm,  or  the  roll  of  the  eartlujuakc.      But  when  the 


MEANINGS   OF   COLOURS.  259 

flutes  and  stringed  instruments  give  way  to  the  trumpet 
and  allied  instruments,  then  we  feel  that  man  is  asserting 
his  influence  in  the  scene,  and  we  listen,  almost  instinct- 
ively, for  the  sound  of  his  tramping  feet.  It  is  only  man 
that  marches.  It  is  only  man  that  wages  war,  and  it  is 
only  in  martial  music  and  in  the  expression  of  the  passion 
of  conflict  and  the  pride  of  triumph  that  the  blasts  of  the 
trumpet,  annourjcing,  as  they  do,  more  distinctively  than 
any  other  musical  sounds,  the  power  and  presence  of  the 
human  being,  realise  to  the  full  their  representative  mis- 
sion. No  wonder  that  even  a  blind  m.an,  at  the  end  of  the 
play,  just  as  the  curtain  drops  on  the  victorious  conquer- 
ors, should  be  able  to  im.agine  how  there  should  be  an 
aesthetic  connection  between  the  brilliant  climax  that  is 
heard  and  the  brilliant  colours  in  the  costumes  and  flags 
which  are  described  to  him  as  surrounding  these  conquer- 
ors and  waving  above  them. 

The  same  principles  must  apph',  of  course,  to  the  sig- 
nificance of  colour  as  used  in  painting  and  architecture. 
In  the  ordinary  portraits  of  great  men,  in  such  paintings 
as  Raphael's  "School  of  Athens"  (Fig.  22,  page  167),  in 
which  we  find  grou[)ed  together  the  celebrated  characters 
of  many  periods,  or  in  a  rejjresentation  (jf  solemnities 
like  that  in  Jules  I^reton's  "First  Communion,"  the 
seriousness  and  dignity  f)f  the  subjects  are  such  that  we 
(h)  not  feel  the  need  in  the  ])igmeiits  of  much  brightness 
or  contrast.  Pint  \\hciic\'er  an_\-thing  is  intended  to  pro- 
duce, priniaril)-,  a  powerful  impression,  whether  gay  or 
grave  in  tendenc)',  the  contrary  is  sometimes  true.  Hence 
one  reason  wh\-  Rubens  with  his  high  and  \aried  colour- 
ing is  so  transcendentl)'  grejit  in  sucii  representations  of 
profound  excitement  as  ii\  the  "  Lion  Hunt"  and  ''The 
Crucifi.xion  "    which   is   in    the  galler\'   at    Antwerp,   or  in 


26o  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

"  The  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  (Fig.  I,  frontispiece),  and  is 
so  corresponding!}'  gross  in  subjects  of  a  ligliter  character, 
as  in  some  of  those  in  the  Old  Pinakothek  at  Munich. 

But  there  is  another  reason  for  this  fact,  and,  in  con- 
nection with  it,  there  is  another  confirmation  of  the  general 
truth  of  the  statements  just  made.  It  may  be  recog- 
nised by  noticing  the  effects  produced  by  colours  upon  pic- 
tures of  the  human  countenance.  So  far  as  this  latter  is 
more  than  a  mass  of  lifeless  flesh,  so  far  as  it  is  something 
fitted  to  be  transfused  and  transfigured  by  the  seriousness 
of  intelligence  and  the  dignity  of  spirituality,  is  there  any 
doubt  that  it  should  be  represented  in  colours  neither  very 
brilliant  nor  greatly  varied?  May  there  not  be  a  sense  in 
which  it  is  a  literal  fact  that  the  blue  veins  of  the  aristo- 
crat are  far  more  suggestive  of  sentiment  and  soul  behind 
them,  not  only  than  the  bloated  flush  of  the  inebriate,  but 
even  than  the  ruddy  liues  of  the  peasant  ?  Compare  even 
the  "Beggar  Boys  "  of  Murillo,  or  his  ordinary  women, 
with  the  flaming  flesh  blistering  on  the  limbs  of  some  of 
Rubens's  figures.  Not  alone  the  angular  curves  that 
often  f(^rm  the  outlines  of  these  latter,  but  the  colouring, 
too,  causes  all  the  difference  in  delicac}-,  refinement,  and 
tenderness  of  sentiment  between  them  and  the  former, 
that  oiie  might  expect  to  find  between  the  ideal  of  a 
scholar  and  of  a  scavenger. 

So,  too,  in  sculpture.  Is  it  not  universally  recognised 
that  statues  of  dark  gray,  blue,  or  black  marble,  granite, 
or  bronze,  as  in  the  case  of  some  of  tlie  Egyptian  remains, 
while  fitted  for  subjects  presented  in  proportions  suffi- 
ciently large  to  secure  great  seriousness  and  dignity  of 
effect,  are  much  less  appropriate  than  pure  white  marble 
f'lr  subjects  of  the  same  general  character  when  presented 
in  the  proportions  of  life?     And   is  it  not  equally    true 


MEANINGS  OF  COLOURS.  26 1 

that  subjects  of  a  lighter  character  and  smaller  size  are 
far  more  appropriately  represented  in  the  warmer-coloured 
bronzes? 

In  architecture,  outline  has  usually  more  to  do  with 
effects  than  has  colour.  Yet  here,  too,  few  fail  to  recog- 
nise the  influence  of  the  latter.  Who  can  be  insensible  to 
the  congruity  between  the  seriousness,  gravity,  and 
dignity  of  impression  produced  by  blue  shades  of  gray  or 
even  of  white,  as  they  loom  before  us  in  the  outlines  of 
the  cathedral,  as  in  Figs.  25,  page  216,  and  33,  page  226,  or 
of  the  large  public  edifice,  as  in  Fig.  79,  page  354?  But 
who  finds  it  agreeable  to  have  the  same  conceptions 
associated  with  buildings  designed  for  domestic  purposes  ? 
Observe  how  cold,  as  we  very  appropriately  say,  and 
therefore  how  devoid  of  that  which  is  homelike  and 
inviting,  is  the  impression  sometimes  produced  by  the 
blue-gray  or  white  of  a  mansion,  as  contrasted  with  the 
appearance  of  a  house  constructed  of  material  in  which 
there  is  a  more  liberal  admixture  of  the  warm  hues,  as  in 
stone  or  brick  of  a  yellow,  orange,  or  brown  shade.  And 
what  of  the  warm  colours  when  used  with  contrasts? 
Is  there  any  one  who  is  not  conscious  of  the  jo}-ous,  gay, 
and  exhilarating  suggestions  imparted  by  the  bright  and 
varied  tints  that  invite  one  to  the  pavilion  of  the  park  or 
the  veranda  of  the  seaside  cottage  ^  The  same  principle, 
of  course,  is  exemplified  in  interiors.  Cold  colours  on  the 
walls,  an  exclusive  or  excessive  use  of  blue,  or  of  green, 
will  ahva\-s  affect  the  sensitive  like  the  clouds  of  a  lowery 
day,  A\]iile  the  warmer  colours,  used  either  wholly  or  in 
part,  will  corres[)ondingly  eiili\'en  tiicm.  No  one  can 
deny  the  impressiveness  of  the  gray  of  the  stone  arches 
that  bend  over  the  "  dim  religious  light"  of  the  church. 
But  e\'en   the  effect  of  this  needs  t(j   be  counteracted  by 


262  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

warm  colours  in  the  chancel;  and  would  be  wholly  out  of 
place  in  a  theatre. 

There  is  another  effect  of  these  cold,  as  contrasted  with 
warm,  colours,  which,  perhaps,  should  be  mentioned  here. 
Owini^  to  the  degree  of  light  that  is  necessary  for  the 
production  of  the  warmer  colours,  it  is  only  when  objects 
are  near  at  hand  and  therefore  are  in  very  strong  light 
that,  as  a  rule,  we  perceive  these  colours  at  all.  At  a 
distance,  as  exemplified  in  the  blue  of  mountain  ranges, 
e\'er\-thing  is  robed  in  the  cold  colours.  For  this  reason, 
it  is  held  that,  in  painting,  the  \varm  colours,  with  their 
compounds  and  admi.xtures,  have  the  effect  of  causing 
objects  to  seem  to  be  at  tlie  front  of  a  picture,  and  the 
cold  colours  of  making  them  seem  to  be  at  the  rear.  W'e 
know  that  in  linear  perspective  the  farther  off  objects 
are,  the  smaller  the}'  appear.  In  aerial  perspecti\"e,  the 
farther  off  they  are,  the  more  dim,  or  blue,  or  j)urple,  or 
gray  they  ap])ear  (see  Fig.  2,  page  3).  A  careful  regard 
of  this  rule  may  sometimes  enable  the  painter  not  only 
of  landscapes  but  also  of  figures  to  produce  very  striking 
effects.  An  illustration  of  this  has  been  noticed  in 
"The  Scourging  of  Christ"  by  Titian,  the  greatest  of  the 
older  C(;l()urists,  in  which  a  figure,  necessarily  placed  in  the 
front  of  the  picture,  is  painted  in  gray  armour  in  order  not 
to  distract  attention  from  the  Ciirist  himself,  who,  though 
in  the  rear  of  this,  is  thrust  into  prominence  by  the  red 
colouring  of  his  robe.  A  similar  effect,  in  fact,  is  a  result 
wherever  this  latter  colour  is  introduced. 

As  applied  to  architecture,  it  is  ex'ident  that,  aside  from 
the  effects  of  form,  which  in  certain  cases  may  entirely 
counterbalance  those  of  col<jur,  the  colder  the  colour,  the 
more  massi\-e,  as  a  I'ule,  will  appear  not  only  the  building 
itself  but  al.-o  the  grounds  about  it  :  the  effect  of  the  cold 


MEAXINGS   OF   COLOURS.  263 

colour  being  to  make  the  house  and  its  parts  seem  at  a 
greater  distance  from  the  observ^er,  and,  therefore,  greater 
in  size  than  it  would  be  at  the  supposed  distance. 
Hence,  another  reason  for  using  cold  colours  in  grand 
buildings.  The  same  principle  applies  to  the  painting 
and  the  papering  of  an  interior.  The  warm  colours  cause 
an  apartment  to  seem  smaller  and  more  cosy,  and  the 
cold  colours  exactly  the  opposite.  Therefore  for  ceilings, 
especially  of  ])ubHc  halls  and  churches,  blue  is  rightly 
popular.  Thus  used  it  suggests  largeness  and  elevation, 
as  in  the  sky  which  it  seems  to  resemble;  and  it  also 
furnishes,  as  a  rule,  an  agreeable  contrast  to  the  warmer 
colours  appropriate  for  the  walls. 

Now  let  us  consider  the  mixed  as  distinguished  from 
the  unmixed  colours.  Going  back,  for  a  moment,  to  mixed 
tones,  the  first  of  them  that  was  mentioned  was  the 
aspirate.  This,  as  was  said,  is  a  whisper,  and  its  charac- 
teristic is  an  absence  of  any  tone  whatever.  Of  course, 
that  which,  in  the  realm  of  colour,  corresponds  to  an 
absence  of  tone  must  be,  according  to  its  degree  of  in- 
tensity, black  or  white,  or  else  some  gray  quality  formed 
by  mixing  the  two.  The  whisper,  in  its  forcible  form, 
the  analogue  of  which,  in  the  realm  of  sight,  would  be 
black,  indicates  apprehension,  as  in  fright;  and  in  its 
weaker  form,  the  analogue  of  which,  in  the  rc;ilm  of  sight, 
would  be  while,  indicates  interest,  as  in  the  secrecy  of  a 
love-scene.  In  both  forms  the  wliis[)er  atUls  feeling  to  the 
tone,  which,  as  a  rule,  is  usual!}-  uttered,  if  not  simultane- 
ously with  it,  at  Ica-t  before  or  after  it.  This  tone,  of 
coui'sc,  Considered  irrespective  of  the  whisper  that  is 
j(;inetl  with  it,  must  resemble  either  the  noinial  or  the 
f)rotun(l.  If  it  I'esenible  the  n(jrmal,  the  forcible  whispe'r 
causes    it    to    have    that    passive    eifect    of    apprehension 


264  THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  ^ESTHETICS. 

characterising  the  expressions  of  aice  and  Jtorror  repre- 
sented in  the  mixed  quality  which  is  termed  pectoral.  If 
the  tone  resemble  the  orotund,  the  forcible  whispercauses 
it  to  ha\-e  that  active  efTect  of  apprehension  characteris- 
ing the  expression  oi  hostility  represented  in  the  mixed 
quality  which  is  termed  guttural. 

In  the  realm  of  sight,  nothing  could  be  perceived  if 
everything  were  absolutely  black.  Black,  therefore,  as 
well  as  white,  must  always  be  blended  with  other  shades 
of  colour.  When  blended  thus,  the  effect  of  being  side  by 
side  with  a  colour  is  often  the  same  as  of  actual  mixture. 
At  a  slight  distance,  we  cannot  tell  whether  the  appear- 
ance is  owing  to  the  latter  or  merely  to  the  fact  that  two 
shades  happen  to  be  near  together.  Now  bearing  this  in 
mind  we  may  say  that  the  effect  of  black,  when  blended 
with  the  cold  colours,  ci^rresponds  to  that  of  pectoral 
quality,  and,  when  blended  with  the  warm  colours,  corre- 
sponds to  that  of  guttural  quality. 

Notice,  first,  the  combinations  of  black  with  the  cold 
colours.  In  such  cases  the  black,  of  course,  must  be  cpiite 
prominent,  and,  merely  to  render  the  objects  depicted 
clearly  perceptible,  it  must  be  offset  in  some  places  by 
cold  colours  of  comparati\ely  light  tints.  But  where  liglit 
tints  are  blended  with  absolute  black  there  must  be  some 
violent  contrasts.  Violent  contrasts  of  themselves,  as 
shown  on  page  254,  represent  excitation.  Excitation, 
howe\'er,  in  connection  with  blackness,  —  to  go  back  to 
what  was  said,  on  page  253,  of  the  effects  of  light  from 
which  we  have  developed  those  of  pigments,  —  is  excita- 
tion in  connection  with  more  or  less  indistinctness  causing 
perj)lexity  and  involving  apprehension.  At  the  same 
time,  as  this  apprehensi\'e  excitation  is  connecteci  with  the 
cold   colours,  it  is  passive,  or,   as  one  might  say,  chilling 


MEANINGS   OF  COLOURS.  265 

and  benumbing,  rather  than  active,  or,  as  one  might  say, 
heating  and  inflaming.  For  this  reason  the  effects  seem 
appropriately  compared  to  those  of  aivc  and  Jiorror  repre- 
sented by  the  pectoral  quality.  Of  course,  colour  alone, 
without  other  means  of  expression,  can  only  approximate 
a  representation  of  these;  but  let  the  outlines  justify  it, 
and  what  hues,  mixed  with  those  of  the  countenance,  can 
make  it  so  ghastly  as  dark  blue  and  green;  or  can  make 
the  clouds  of  heav^en  so  unheavenly  as  very  dark  blue;  or 
the  sod  of  the  earth  so  unearthly  as  dark  blue-green;  or 
anything  so  deathlike  and  appalling  as  these  colours  used 
with  excessive  contrasts  of  light  and  shade?  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  it  is  with  such  combinations  that  Gustave 
Dore  produces  most  of  the  harrowing  effects  in  his  series 
of  pictures  illustrating  Dante's  "Inferno"? 

Now  let  us  add  black  to  yellow,  orange,  or  red,  cither 
mixing  the  two  or  placing  them  side  by  side,  and  notice 
the  effect.  As  said  before,  the  very  dark  shades  cannot, 
in  painting,  be  used  exclusively.  If  they  be,  the  outlines 
cannot  be  made  clearly  perceptible.  But  to  use  blaclv  in 
ccMmection  with  the  lighter  tints,  introduces  that  variety 
which,  as  said  on  page  254,  always  increases  the  excitation 
of  the  effect.  Warmth,  in  coiinecticni  with  black,  or,  as 
explained  in  the  last  paragraph,  with  apprehensive  ex- 
citation,—  emotive  heat  causing  acti\-e  resistance  to  that 
whit;h  is  dreaded,  —  does  not  this  describe,  as  neai'lv  as 
,iii\-thiiig  can,  a  condition  attendant  upon  Jiostilily  such 
as  is  repi'esented  to  the  ear  by  tlie  guttural  tone?  In  the 
case  of  the  warm  colours,  too,  still  more  than  in  that  of 
the  Cold,  nature  seems  to  have  enforced  tlie  meanings  of 
the  combinations  so  that  we  shall  not  mistake  tliem. 
^'ello^\'  ami  black,  orange  and  bl.ick,  red  and  black,  or,  in 
place    of   black,   very   dark   gray,   green,   blue,    (;r    purple. 


i1      INTERIOR    OF    BEVERLEY    MINSTER 
ENGLAND. 


Sec  l>at;cs  ()<),  25: 
266 


310. 


MEANINGS   OF   COLOURS.  267 

which  are  alhed  to  bhick, — ^  is  there  a  particularly  venom- 
ous insect  or  beast,  or  appearance  of  any  kind,  from  a 
bee,  or  a  snake,  or  a  tiger,  to  the  fire  and  smoke  of  a  con- 
flagration, or  the  lightning  and  cloud  of  a  storm,  in  which 
we  do  not  detect  some  presence  of  these  combinations? 
No  wonder,  then,  that  so  often  in  former  times,  at  least, 
soldiers  wore  tliem  when  girded  for  the  contests  of  the 
battle-fiekl  ! 

The  whisper,  in  its  weaker  form,  was  said  to  re[)resent 
not  apprehension,  but  a  more  or  less  agreeable  degree  of 
interest.  Of  course,  the  weaker  form  of  a  negation  of 
colour,  at  its  extreme,  must  be  rei:)resented  by  white.  As 
applied  to  tones,  there  is  no  separate  term  of  designation 
for  this  whisper  when  added  to  normal  or  orotund  qual- 
ity. Elocutionists  merely  speak  of  an  as[)irated  normal 
or  orotund,  saying  that,  when  aspirated,  feeling  is  added 
to  the  effect  of  each.  Let  us  recall  now  combinations  of 
white  with  blue,  green,  or  purple.  Is  there  any  diffi- 
culty in  recognising  how  closely  the  result  corresponds 
to  that  which  is  produced  by  an  asi)irated  normal  tone? 
We  have  all  seen  such  combinations  in  summer  costumes, 
as  well  as  in  tents  and  awnings  o\'er  windows  or  veran- 
das. In  such  cases,  is  there  not  a  more  exhilarating  ef- 
fect produced  Ijy  them  than  could  be  produced  by  white 
alone?  or  b\' one  of  these  colours  alone  ?  Yet,  at  the  same 
time,  is  ncjt  the  effect  far  cooler,  and,  in  this  sense,  less 
exhilarating,  than  is  produced  1)\'  combinations  of  white 
with  red,  (jrangc,  or\-ellow  ? 

In  these  latter  we  liax'e,  as  has  been  saitl,  that  which 
coi-responds  to  the  effect  of  the  aspirated  oi'otund,-  the 
tone  used  in  eanie-it  ath'ocacy  or  description  of  some- 
thing which  is  felt  to  l)e  in  itself  of  ])i-ofoun(l  interest. 
7"hink  of   the   combinations   of    w  hite   with  these    warmer 


26S  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .'ESTHETICS. 

colours.  Could  any  langua^^e  better  than  that  just  used 
designate  their  peculiar  intlence  ?  What  tlian  they  are 
more  exhilarating  or  entrancing  in  the  decorations  of  in- 
teriors, or  in  banners  and  pageants  ? 

E\-en  were  it  possible,  which  it  is  not,  to  illustrate  fully 
in  book-form  these  various  effects  of  colour,  there  would 
be  no  great  necessity  for  doing  so.  By  following  up  the 
suggestions  that  have  been  made,  those  interested  in  the 
subject  will  have  no  difficulty  in  applying  the  principles 
unfolded, — •  sufficiently,  at  least,  to  become  convinced  of 
their  essential  accurac}'.  Nor  is  it  necessary  in  this  place 
to  carr\-  the  discussion  farther,  and  try  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  representative  pcjssibilities  of  each  of  the  cold 
colours — green,  blue,  and  purple,  or  of  the  warm  colours — 
red,  orange,  and  yellow.  \'iewed  in  their  relations  to 
mental  effects,  the  differences  between  the  colours  of  each 
group,  as  bctweeii  the  shades  of  each  colour,  are  mainly  of 
degree,  not  of  kind,  and  depend  largely  upon  the  natural 
colour  of  the  objects  represented  or  by  which  these  are 
surrounded.  The  only  unvarying  fact  is  that  indicated 
by  the  getieral  dix'ision  into  cold  and  warm  colours.  Ac- 
coi'dingly  attention  has  been  directed  here  to  this,  and 
to  this  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ART-C()MP(.)SITI()\. 

Ii.iat^ination  Necessary  in  Elaborating  as  well  as  in  Originating  Represen- 
tative Fi)rms  of  Expression  —  Metliods  of  Com].osing  Music — Tcietry — 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture — Mental  Methods  in  Art-Coni- 
])osition  Analogous  to  Other  Mental  Methods — To  that  in  Classifica- 
tion— How  Art-Classitication  Differs  from  ()rdinary  ( dassilication  — 
The  Method  of  Classification  not  Inconsistent  with  Representing  the 
Artist's  ThouglUs  and  Emotions — Or  with  Representing  Nature — I'x- 
])lanation — Artists  Influenced  hy  Mental  and  Material  Considci'atii  ms — 
Methods  of  Art-Composition  Are  Methods  of  Ohtaining  Unil_\-  of 
Effect — Olitained  in  Each  Art  liy  Comjiarison,  or  I'utting  Like  with 
I, ike — \'ariety  in  Nature  Necessitating  Contrast — ("ontrast  in  Each 
Art — .Vise  Complexity — Com[)lement — ( )rder  an<l  ( iroup-I''orni — C'l in- 
fusion and  Counteraction  —  I'rincipalitv  and  Suhordin.ition — lialance — 
Distinguished  from  Complement  and  C'ounteraction — I'rincipalitv  in 
Music  and  ]'oetr\-  —  Suhordination  and  llalame  in  the  Same — Trinci- 
pality  in  I'aiiiling  and  Sculpture — In  Arcliilecture — Organic  l-'orm  — 
In  Music — In  I'oetry — In  Painting  and  Sculpt  ure — In  .\rchitecture. 

r^IIAPTERS  XI Land  XIII.  have  shown  us  that  certain 
audible  or  visible  effects  traceable  to  material  or  to 
Iniinan  nature  ha\'e,  either  b\'  way  of  comparison,  as  in  imi- 
tation, or  of  association,  as  in  conx'entional  iisac^^e,  a  reco;^- 
ni-sed  meanin;^.  This  meaiiinL,' enablrs  the  mind  to  (.'inijlo)' 
them  in  represent  in;^  its  conceptions.  J^iit  \\hat  has 
been  said  a[)plies  to  the  use  of  these  effects  so  far  oidy 
as  tlu:y  exi>t  in  the  condition  in  wliicli  they  manifest 
themsi-h'cs  in  nature.  Art-composition  in\'olves  an  elal^)- 
ration    and    often     an     crxten^ive    combination    of    them. 

2(,9 


270  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

I  low  can  they  be  elaborated  and  combined  in  snch  a  way 
as  to  cause  them  to  continue  to  represent  the  same  con- 
ceptions that  they  represented  before  art  had  begun  its 
work  upon  them  ?  Evidently  this  result  can  be  attained  in 
the  degree  alone  in  which  all  that  is  added  to  the  natural 
sound  or  sight  representing  the  original  conception  con- 
tinues to  repeat  the  same  representative  effect.  In  other 
words,  the  imagination,  which,  by  way  of  comparison  or  of 
association,  connected  together  the  original  mental  con- 
ce[)tion  and  the  form  representing  it,  must  continue,  in  the 
same  way  to  connect  together  this  form  and  all  the  forms 
added  to  it  by  way  of  elaboration  or  combination.  Other 
methods  of  expression — religious  or  scientific — may  use 
imagination  in  onl)*  its  initial  work  of  formulating  words 
or  other  symbols,  but  art  must  use  it  to  the  very  end.  It 
matters  not  whether  its  first  conception  be  an  image  of 
a  whole,  as  of  an  entire  pc^em  or  palace,  or  whether  it 
be  an  image  of  a  part,  as  of  a  certain  form  of  metre  or 
of  arch,  the  imagination,  in  dividing  the  image  of  the 
whole  into  parts,  or  in  building  up  the  \\hole  from  its 
parts,  must  always,  in  successful  art,  continue  to  carry  on 
its  \vork  b\'  wax  of  comparison  or  association. 

To  illustrate  this  in  music.  How  is  a  song  or  a  sym- 
phony that  is  expressive  of  any  given  feeling,  composed  ? 
Alwa}'s  thus:  A  certain  duration,  force,  pitch,  or  cpiality 
of  voice,  w'u'icd  two  or  three  times,  is  recognised  to  be  a 
natural  form  of  expression  for  a  certain  state  of  mind, — • 
satisfaction,  grief,  ecstas\-,  friglit,  as  the  case  may  be.  A 
musician  takes  this  form  of  sound,  and  adds  to  it  other 
forms  that  in  rliytlim  or  in  modul.ition,  or  in  both,  can  be 
Compared  or  associated  with  it,  var\-ing  it  in  onl}-  such 
subordinate  ways  as  constantl)'  to  suggest  it  ;  and  thus  he 
elaborates  a  song  L'Xjiressive  of  satisfaction,  grief,  ccstas}', 


ART   COMPOSITION.  2? I 

or  fright.  Or  if  it  be  a  synipluiiiy,  the  method  is  tlie 
same.  Tlie  whole,  intricate  as  it  may  appear,  is  developed 
by  recurrences  of  the  same  or  very  similar  effects,  varied 
almost  infinitely  but  in  such  ways  as  constantly  to  suggest 
a  few  notes  or  chords  which  form  the  theme  or  themes. 

A  similar  fact  is  true  with  reference  to  poetic  elabora- 
tion. What  are  the  following  but  series  of  compari- 
sons,— reiterations  of  the  same  particular  or  general  idea 
in  different  phraseology  or  figures  ? 

And  what  is  music  then  ?     Then  mu>ic  is 
Even  as  tlie  n(jurisli  when  true  subjects  !)ow 
To  a  new-cr(n\ue(l  monarch  ;  such  it  is, 
As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of   day. 
That  creep  into  the  dreaminL;  bridei^room's  ear. 
And  summon  him  to  marriage. 

Mtrcha)it  0 f  Viiiicc,  Hi.,  2  :  Shakesptare. 

lirutus  and  C;TCsar  ;  what  should  be  in  that  Caesar? 
^Vhy  should  that  name  be  st)unded  more  than  yours? 
^\'rite  them  toL;etliei\  yours  is  a^  fair  a  name  ; 
Souml  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well  ; 
Weii^h  them,  it  is  a--  ]iea\y  ;  conjure  with  them, 
"  lirutus  "   \\\\\  start  a  spirit  as  soon   as  "  (';esar." 

jfii/iiis  Ct.'iir,  i.,  2:   Ut'in. 

Wliat  do  we  have  in  the  [)oetic  treatment  of  a  subject 
cotisidcred  as  a  whole,  as  in  an  rpic  mt  a  diani.i?  Nothing 
but  repeated  delineations  of  the  same  general  concep- 
tions ciX  characters  as  manifested  or  dc\-eloped  amid  dif- 
fcreiit  stn'roundings  of  time  or  of  })!ace. 

So  with  tlie  forms  of  painting,  scidpture,  and  archi- 
tecture. I^\'ei'y  one  knows  that,  as  a  rule,  certain  like 
lines,  arches,  or  angles  are  repeati:d  in  the  coliiinns, 
cornices,  dotjrs,  windows,  and  roofs  of  buildings.  i'"e\v, 
perhaps,    '.'.itlioiit     in>truction,    recognise    that    the   s.mie 


2/2  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF   /ESTHETICS. 

principle  is  true  as  applied  to  both  the  outlines  and  col- 
ours through  which  art  delineates  the  scenery  of  land  or 
water  or  the  limbs  of  living  creatures.  But  one  thing 
almost  all  recognise  :  This  is  that,  in  the  highest  works 
of  art,  ever}-  s[)ecial  effect  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  general 
effect.  In  the  picture  of  a  storm,  for  instance,  every 
cloud,  wa\'e,  leaf,  bough,  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  storm's 
effect  ;  in  the  statue  of  a  sufferer,  every  muscle  in  the  face 
or  form  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  suffering's  effect ;  in  the 
architecture  of  a  building, — if  of  a  single  style, — ever\- 
window,  door,  and  dome  repeats,  as  a  rule,  the  style's 
effect. 

It  is  important  to  notice  now  that  this  method  of  art- 
composition  which  has  been  indicated  is  in  analogy  with 
methods  which  the  mind  employs  with  reference  to  many 
other  subjects  besides  those  which  concern  art.  The  ap- 
pearances of  iiature  which  the  artist  has  to  study  are  the 
same  as  those  which  every  man  has  to  study.  They  con- 
front the  child  the  moment  that  e\-e  or  ear  is  fairly  opened 
to  apprehend  the  world  about  him.  As  soon  as  he  be- 
gins to  observe  and  think  and  act,  these  furnish  him  with 
his  materials — with  facts  to  know,  with  subjects  to  under- 
stand, with  implements  to  use.  Alwa}'s,  however,  before 
he  can  awiil  iiimself  of  them,  he  must  do  what  is  exj)ressed 
in  the  old  saying,  "  Classify  and  conquer."  When  the 
child  first  c)bserves  the  world,  everything  is  a  maze;  but 
anon,  out  of  this  maze  objects  emerge  which  he  contrasts 
Avith  other  objects  and  distinguislies  from  them.  After  a 
little,  he  sees  that  two  or  three  of  these  objects,  thus  dis- 
tinguished, are  alikx'  ;  and  pursuing  a  process  of  compari- 
son h.e  is  able,  b}-  himself,  or  with  the  help  of  others,  to 
unite  and  to  classify  them,  and  to  give  to  each  class  a 
name. 


ART  COMPOSITION.  2/3 

As  soon  as,  in  this  wa}%  he  has  learned  to  separate  cer- 
tain animals, — horses,  say,  from  sheep, — and  to  unite  and 
classify  and  name  them,  he  begins  to  know  something  of 
zoology  ;  and  all  his  future  knowledge  of  that  branch  will 
be  acquired  by  further  employment  of  the  same  method. 
So  all  his  knowledge,  and  not  only  this,  but  his  under- 
standing and  application  of  the  laws  of  botany,  mineral- 
ogy, psychology,  or  theology  will  depend  on  the  degree 
in  which  he  learns  to  separate  from  others,  and  thus  to 
unite  and  classify  and  name  certain  plants,  rocks,  mental 
activities,  or  religious  dogmas.  Without  classification  to 
begin  with,  there  can  be  no  knowledge,  no  understanding, 
no  efficient  use  of  the  materials  which  nature  furnishes. 
The  ph}'sicist  is  able  to  recognise,  relate,  and  reproduce 
effects  in  only  the  degree  in  which  he  is  able  to  classify 
the  appearances  and  laws,  the  facts  and  forces  of  material 
nature.  The  metaphysician  is  able  to  know  and  prove 
and  guide  to  right  action  in  only  the  degree  in  which  he 
is  aljle  to  classify  feelings,  conceptions,  and  volitions  A\ith 
their  motives  and  tendencies  as  they  arise  in  mental  con- 
sciousness and  manifest  themselves  in  action. 

Why  should  not  the  same  princi[)le  a|)ply  in  the  arts? 
It  undoubtedly  does.  Just  as  the  phwsicist  classifies 
effects  conditioned  upon  laws  operating  underneath  phe- 
nomena of  a  phwsical  nature,  and  the  psj-chologist  chissi- 
fies  effects  conditioned  upon  laws  operating  underneath 
phenomena  of  a  ps)-cliical  natme,  so  the  ailist  classifies 
eff^.■cts  conditioned  upon  laws  operating  underneath  phe- 
nomena of  an  artistic  nature.  It  is  true  that  wiiat  has 
been  called  classification  does  not  in  art  result  merely  in 
mental  conceptions  of  classes,  as  of  Jtorscs  or  oaks  in  sci- 
ence, or  as  (jf  iiiaicrialists  or  iihalists  \\\  phil()so[)liy.  The 
first  result  is  a  mental  conce])lion  ;  but  afterwai'ds,  through 
18 


274  J'^^^   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

a  further  application  of  precisely  the  same  methods,  there 
comes  to  bean  objective  external  product.  In  other  words 
the  artist  begins  by  gaining  a  general  conce})tion  of  a  class 
in  the  same  way  as  the  scientist  and  philosopher  ;  but  he 
ends  by  producing  a  special  specimen  of  the  class.  Let 
us  try  to  perceive  just  what  is  meant  by  this  statement. 
While  doing  so,  we  may  be  able  to  perceive  also  in  what 
sense  it  is  true  that  the  mind,  when  classifying  in  art,  is 
still  representing,  as  all  art  should,  both  its  own  thoughts 
and  emotions,  and  also  the  natural  phenomena  surround- 
ing it. 

To  show  that  the  mind  is  still  representing  its  own 
thoughts  and  emotions,  one  need  only  direct  attention  to 
the  intimate  connection  that  always  exists  between  giv- 
ing expression  to  general  conceptions,  and  representing 
the  whole  range  of  the  results  of  a  man's  observation  and 
thought  that  together  constitute  his  mental  character. 
Imagine  a  gardener  classifying  his  roses — as  he  must  do 
instinctively  the  moment  that  he  has  to  deal  with  any 
large  number  of  them — and  obtaining  thus  a  general  con- 
ception of  the  flower.  Then  imagine  him  tr}-ing  in  some 
artificial  way  to  produce  a  single  rose  embod}'ing  this 
conception.  This  rose  will  very  likely  resemble  som.eone 
rose  particularly  present  to  his  mind  while  forming  it  ;  yet 
probably  because,  before  starting  with  his  work,  he  has 
obtained  a  conception  of  roses  in  general,  his  product  will 
manifest  some  rose-like  qualities  not  possessed  by  the 
specimen  before  him,  but  suggested  by  others.  That  is 
to  say,  because  of  his  general  conception  derived  from 
classifx'ing,  he  does  more  than  imitate — he  represents  in 
that  which  is  a  copy  of  one  rose  ideas  derived  from  many 
roses.  The  same  principle  applies  to  all  works  of  art. 
Let  a  man  write  a  story  or  paint  a  picture.      In  nine  cases 


CLA SSIFICA  TION  IN  ART.  275 

out  of  ten  in  the  exact  degree  in  which  he  has  observed 
and  classified  many  like  events  or  scenes,  he  will  add  to 
his  product  the  results  of  his  own  thinking  or  general- 
ising. In  fact,  it  is  a  question  whether  the  chief  charm 
of  such  works  is  not  imparted  by  the  introduction  into 
them,  in  legitimate  ways,  of  this  kind  of  generalisation 
having  its  sources  not  in  the  particular  things  described, 
but  in  the  brains  of  the  describers,  who  have  already 
been  made  familiar  with  many  other  things  somewhat 
similar.  Shakespeare  certainly  did  not  get  the  most  at- 
tracti\'e  features  of  his  historical  pla\-s  from  history,  nor 
Turner  those  of  his  pictures  from  nature.  So,  as  a  rule, 
even  in  the  most  imitative  of  works,  the  realh'  great  art- 
ist, consciously  or  unconsciously,  gives  form  to  concep- 
tions that  he  has  derived  from  an  acquaintance  with 
many  other  objects  of  the  same  class  as  those  imitated. 
There  is  no  need  of  saying  more  to  show  what  is  meant 
by  affirming  that  ike  mind  of  the  artist  that  would  rc[)re- 
sent  itself  in  art  must  start  by  classifying  in  order  to 
conquer  the  forms  of  nature  with  which  it  has  to  deal. 

Now  let  us  notice  that  the  mind,  when  classifying,  may 
still  represent  the  natural  phenomena  surrounding  it. 
At  first  thought,  classification  and  imitation  appear  to 
necessitate  different  [jrocesses.  ]5ut  possibly  they  do 
not.  Suppose  that  natural  forms  themselves  were  all 
found  to  manifest  an  effect  lil<e  that  of  classification.  In 
this  case,  to  imitate  them  would  involve  imitating  it; 
and  to  add  to  them,  as  is  usuall\'  done  in  art,  and  to  add 
to  them  in  such  wa\-s  as  to  make  the  added  fe'atui'es  seem 
analogous  to  the  imitatetl  ones,  and  thus  to  cause  the 
foiins  as  wholes  to  continue  to  see-in  natural,  would  in- 
volve eontinuing  the  ])roce'SS  of  classification.  Now,  if, 
with  thi.T  thought   in    mind,  we   recall   the  appearances   of 


2/6  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

nature,  wc  shall  recognise  that  the  condition  which  has 
been  supposed  to  exist  there  really  does  exist.  A  man, 
when  classifying  rocks,  puts  together  mentally  those  that 
are  alike.  So  does  nature,  grouping  them  in  the  same 
mountain  ranges,  or  at  the  bottoms  of  the  same  streams. 
He  puts  together  leaves,  and  feathers,  and  hairs  that  are 
alike.  So  does  nature,  making  them  grow  on  the  same 
trees,  or  birds,  or  animals.  He  puts  together  human 
beings  that  are  alike.  So  does  nature,  giving  birth  to 
them  in  the  same  families,  races,  climates,  countries.  In 
fact,  a  man's  mind  is  a  part  of  nature  ;  and  when  it  works 
naturally,  it  works  as  nature  does.  Wc,  combines  ele- 
ments as  a  result  of  classification,  in  accordance  with 
methods  analogous  to  those  in  which  nature,  or,  "the 
mind  in  nature,"  combines  them.  Indeed,  he  wovdd 
never  have  thought  of  classification  at  all,  unless  in  na- 
ture itself  he  had  first  perceived  the  beginning  of  it.  He 
would  never  have  conceived  of  forming  a  group  of  ani- 
mals and  calling  them  horses,  nor  have  been  able  to  con- 
ceive of  this,  unless  nature  had  first  made  horses  alike. 
To  put  together  the  factors  of  an  art-product,  therefore, 
in  accordance  with  the  methods  of  classification,  does  not 
in\-olve  any  process  inconsistent  with  representing  ac- 
curately the  forms  that  appear  in  the  world.  These 
forms  themselves  are  made  up  of  factors  api)arently  put 
together  in  the  same  way,  though  not  to  the  same  extent. 
In  the  author's  book  entitled  "The  Genesis  of  Art- 
Form,"  the  suggestions  derived  from  a  line  of  thought 
similar  to  that  just  pursued,  are  developed  into  various 
methods  used  in  art-comi)osition.  These  methods  are 
printed  in  the  chart  on  page  277  of  the  present  volume. 
In  tliat  book  the  methods  and  the  effects  of  appl_\"ing 
them  to  each  art  are  described  in  detail.     For  our  present 


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2/8  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  .^.STll ETICS. 

purpose,  it  will  be  necessary  merely  to  mention  them 
briefly. 

From  what  has  been  said  already,  it  is  evident  that 
the  artist  in  his  work  is  influenced  by  both  uioital  and 
Diatcrial  considerations.  He  starts  with  a  conception 
which  in  his  mind  is  associated  with  certain  forms  or 
series  of  forms.  He  copies  these,  and  adds  others  that 
seem  like  them  ;  i.  c,  he  makes  use  of  forms  attributable, 
some  of  them,  to  the  character  of  the  conception  that  he 
wishes  to  express,  and  some  of  them  to  the  character  of 
the  resemblance  to  others  which  they  sliow;  some  of 
them,  in  other  words,  to  mental,  and  some  of  them  to 
material  considerations.  l-5ut  while  this  is  true  in  such  a 
sense  as  to  justify  a  general  division  of  his  methods 
upon  the  ground  that  they  are  traceable  in  part  to  the 
character  of  mind  and  in  part  to  that  of  nature,  there  is 
also  a  sense  in  which  every  one  of  them  is  traceable  to 
both.  For  this  reason  a  discussion  of  any  method  what- 
ever must  include,  to  be  complete,  some  reference  both  to 
its  mental  and  to  its  material  bearings.  With  this  ex- 
planation, which  will  show  that  it  is  not  intended  to 
make  too  exclusive  a  statement  in  any  case,  we  may  divide 
the  methods  of  classification  and  also  of  art-compositi(^n 
into  those  that  manifest  chiefly  the  effects  of  uiiiid,  of 
nature,  and  of  the  combined  influences  of  botJi.  (See 
chart  on  jKige  277. ) 

S')  far  as  classification  results  from  the  conditionsof  mind, 
its  function  is  to  simplif}-  the  work  of  forming  concepts, 
and  its  end  is  attained  in  the  degree  in  which  it  enables 
one  to  conceive  of  many  different  things — birds  or  beasts, 
larks  or  geese,  dogs  or  sheep,  as  the  case  may  be — as  one. 
Cla-^siflcation  is.  therefore,  an  effort  in  the  directif^n  of 
unity.      It  is  hardly  necessar_\-  to  add  that  the  same  is  true 


COMPARISON  IN  ART  FORM.  279 

of  art-composition.     Its  object  is  to  unite  many  different 
features  in  a  single  form. 

Unity  being  the  aim  of  classification,  it  is  evident  that 
the  most  natural  way  of  attaining  this  aim  is  that  of  put- 
ting, so  far  as  possible,  like  wil/i  like;  and  that  doing  this 
necessitates  a  process  of  comparison.  Applying  this  princi- 
ple to  art-composition,  and  looking,  first,  at  music,  we  find 
that  the  chief  characteristic  of  its  form  is  a  series  of  phrases 
of  like  lengths,  divided  into  like  numbers  of  measures,  all 
sounded  in  like  time,  through  the  use  of  notes  that  move 
upward  or  downward  in  the  scale  at  like  intervals,  with  like 
recurrences  of  melody  and  harmony.  So  with  poetry. 
The  chief  characteristics  of  its  form  are  lines  of  like  lengths, 
divided  into  like  numbers  of  feet,  each  uttered  in  like  time, 
to  which  are  sometimes  added  alliteration,  assonance,  and 
rhyme,  produced  by  the  recurrence  of  like  sounds  in  either 
consonants,  vowels,  or  both.  In  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture,  no  matter  of  what  '' st}-le,"  the  same  is  true. 
The  most  superficial  inspection  of  any  product  of  these 
arts,  if  it  be  of  established  reputation,  will  convince  one 
that  it  is  composed  in  the  main  b}'  putting  together  forms 
that  are  alike  in  such  things  as  colour,  shape,  size,  posture, 
and  proportion.  In  confirmation  of  this,  obser\'e,  of 
paintings,  "The  Descent  from  the  Cross,"  I'^ig.  I,  frontis- 
piece ;  the  "  Pollice  \"erso,"  r'ig.  4,  page  41;  ''  The  Storm," 
I'^ig.  7,  page  91  ;  "  Lines  Ex[)rcssive  of  Storm,"  I*'ig.  30, 
page  221,  and  "Lines  Ex[)rcssi\'c  of  Repose,"  T^ig.  3  f,  page 
223,  and  "  Tlie  Soldier's  Return,"  h^ig.  9,  p.ige  97.  Finally 
of  buildings  observe,  in  the  (jreek  st}-Ie,  the  ''  Alaison  Car- 
ree,"  I' ig.  I  5,  page  104,  and  the  "  Temple  of  Theseus,"  Fig. 
28,  page  219;  in  the  Cjotliic  style,  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne, 
V\'^.  33,  page  226;  and  in  the  B)-zantine'  and  Oriental  styles, 
"  St.  Mark's,"  T^ig.  34,  page  227;   the  "  Chinese  Temple," 


2S0 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  yJ^STHETICS. 


Fig.  52,  page  280,  and  that  great  memorial  structure  of 
India,  by  many  considered  the  most  beautiful  building  in 
the  world,  the  "  Taj  Mahal,"  Fig.  53,  page  281. 


FIG.  52.— POUTOU  TEMPLE,  NINQPO,  CHINA. 
See  pages  gg,  2-q,  23o,  296. 


Rut  classification  is  traceable  not  only  to  the  conditions 
of  mind  but  also  of  nature,  (  See  chart  on  page  277.)  It 
is  in  the  latter  that  the  mind  is  confronted  by  that  which 
classification  is  intended  to  overcome,  b}-  that  which  is  the 
opjjo.-.ite  of  unity  — namely,  I'aricty.  If  there  \\-ere  none 
of  this  in  nature,  all  things  would  appear  to  be  alike,  and 


2  82  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

classification  would  be  unnecessary.  As  a  fact,  however, 
no  two  things  are  alike  in  all  regards  ;  and  the  mind  must 
content  itself  with  putting  together  those  that  are  alike  in 
some  regards.  This  is  the  same  as  to  say  that  classifica- 
tion involves,  occasionally,  pnttiiig  the  like  zcit/i  the  unlike ; 
and  necessitates  contrast  as  well  as  comj)arison.  The  ob- 
jects brought  together  in  the  same  group,  while  similar  in 
certain  general  and  salient  features,  are  dissimilar  in  par- 
ticular and  less  prominent  ones.  From  a  distance,  or  upon 
first  observation,  all  the  voices  of  men  and  all  the  trees  of 
a  forest  may  seem  like  rei)ctitions  of  one  another.  Were 
it  not  so,  we  should  fail  to  understand  what  is  meant  by 
the  terms  "  human  voice  "  and  "  oak-tree."  W'e  use  these 
terms  as  a  result  of  unconscious  classification  obtained 
by  regarding  certain  general  features  that  first  attract 
attention.  But  when  we  approach  near  the  object  or  ex- 
amine it  careful!}',  we  find  that  each  voice  and  tree  differs 
from  its  neighbours  ;  not  only  so,  but  each  note  of  the 
same  voice  and  each  leaf  of  the  same  tree. 

A  similar  fact  is  observable  in  products  of  art.  One  of 
the  most  charming  effects  in  music  and  poetry  is  that  pro- 
duced when  more  or  less  unlikeness  is  blended  with  the 
likeness  in  rhythm,  tone,  and  movement  which,  a  moment 
ago,  was  said  to  constitute  the  chief  element  of  artistic 
form.  Notice  this  fact  as  exemplified  in  the  poetry  on 
page  325.  In  painting  and  sculpture  one  of  the  most  in- 
variable characteristics  of  that  which  is  inartistic  is  a  lack 
of  sufficient  diversit}',  colours  too  similar,  outlines  too  uni- 
form. See  the  quotations  on  page  315.  So,  too,  with  archi- 
tecture. Notice  the  conventional  fronts  of  the  buildings 
on  many  of  the  streets  of  our  cities.  Their  accumulations 
of  doors  and  windows  and  cornices,  all  of  like  si/.es  and 
shapes,  are  certainU-  not  in  the  highest  sense  interesting. 


COMPLEXITY  AND    COMPLEMENT.  283 

When  we  have  seen  a  few  of  them,  we  have  seen  all  of 
them.  In  order  to  continue  to  attract  our  attention,  forms 
must,  now  and  then,  present  features  that  have  not  been 
seen  before. 

As  contrast  is  exemplified  in  cojnpleinciit,  subordina- 
tion, bci/ance,  alternation,  and  other  methods  that  are 
to  be  considered  hereafter,  there  is  no  need  of  dwell- 
ing u[)on  it  here,  nor  upon  the  self-evident  fact  brought 
out  in  the  chart  on  page  277,  that  any  form  composed  of 
both  like  and  unlike  factors  necessarily  manifests  more 
or  less  complexity. 

Complement  is  a  term  applied  to  two  things  that  contrast, 
and  yet  concur,  Ijccause  together  they  complete  the  one 
thing  to  which  they  equally  belong.  Complement  must 
be  regarded,  too,  in  classification,  because  every  depart- 
ment of  nature  is  full  of  it.  Certain  kinds  of  metals  and 
ores,  leaves  and  branches,  males  and  females,  alike  in  some 
regards,  unlike  in  others,  are  always  found  together, 
and  are  both  necessary  to  the  realisation  of  the 
type.  So  in  the  arts.  In  those  of  sound,  high  and  low 
tr)ncs  contrast;  and  yet  for  rhythm,  melotly,  or  harmony, 
both  are  necessary.  In  the  arts  of  sight,  light  and  shade 
ontrast ;  and  \xt,  to  represent  the  effects  of  form  as  it 
appears  in  sunlight,  both  are  necessary.  In  colours,  again, 
certain  hues,  like  blue-green  and  red,  contrast  ;  and  }-et 
as  both,  when  blended  together,  make  white,  both  may  be 
said  to  be  necessary  to  the  completeness  of  light.  In 
all  these  cases  the  c(jntrasting  factors  are  termed 
com[)lements. 

Whc-n,  owing  to  7'ariety  and  coinplexitv,  unity  cannot  be 
attained  through  a  use  of  foi'ins  as  they  exist  in  nature,  it 
must  be  attained  tlirough  a  mctliod  of  using  them;  in 
other  words,  thrtni'di  order.      Wlien  thus  attained,  thou-'ht 


284  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  AESTHETICS. 

contents  itself  with  arranging  forms  together,  one  after 
anotlier,  aecording  to  the  degree  in  which  a  first  form  is 
Hke  a  second,  and  a  second  hke  a  third,  and  so  on.  This 
process  can  be  continued  ahiiost  indefinitely.  As  a  fact, 
there  are,  as  it  were,  links  of  resemblance  enabling  one  to 
connect  every  kind  or  class  of  form  with  other  kinds  or 
classes  nearly  related  to  it,  and  thus  to  connect  all  possible 
kinds  or  classes  together.  When  an  attempt  is  made  to  do 
this,  the  forms  or  classes,  according  to  their  degrees  of  dif- 
ference, come  to  be  grouped  in  a  regularly  graded  series. 
We  may  express  this  fact  by  saying  that  the  forms  or  the 
classes,  as  a  whole,  come  to  ha\'e  ^i^t'oi/p-forni.  When 
this  result  is  readied,  the  work  of  order  is  manifest.  Of 
course,  the  principle  applies  to  the  bringing  together  of 
factors  eith.er  in  scientific  classification  or  in  an  art-work. 
Notice  the  group-form,  or  orderly  arrangement,  of  the  ob- 
jects and  persons  represented  in  Fig.  i,  frontispiece;  Fig.  4, 
page  41;  Fig.  8,  page  96;  Fig.  9- P^ge  97 ;  Fig.  22,  page 
167;  and  Fig.  37,  page  233. 

When  the  conditions  of  nature  necessitate  such  an  effect 
of  variety  that  there  is  no  order,  we  have  that  lack  of  ar- 
rangement preceding  and  necessitating  classification  which 
is  termed  confusion.  ]5ut,  because  co)ifnsion  exists  in  na- 
ture, it  may  sometimes  be  legitimately  introduced  into  art. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  although  a  little  cortfusioii, 
lilce  a  little  contrast,  may  sometimes,  by  way  of  variety,  add 
greatly  to  the  attractiveness  of  that  with  which  it  is  as- 
sociated, it  nevertheless  needs  to  be  used  in  such  a  way  as 
to  suggest  the  dominance  of  unity  and  order.  This  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  confusion  necessitates  counteraction. 
Counteraction  keeps  confusion  within  the  compass  of  some 
rhythm,  tune,  sliajie,  or  hue ;  and  causes  the  whole, 
in  spite  of   opposing  elements,   to    manifest  method.     If 


ORDER   AND   PRINCIPALITY.  285 

applied  to  music,  it  causes  gongs  or  drums  to  be  struck  so  as 
to  augment  the  rhythmic  effect  of  the  general  movement. 
Applied  to  painting,  it  causes  tangled  masses  of  wool,  or 
foliage,  to  hang  about  animals,  trees,  or  towers  ;  and  some- 
times, through  a  use  of  a  background  of  mathematical 
architectural  forms,  it  holds  together  and  makes  a  unity 
of  otherwise  confused  groups  of  men,  as  in  Raphael's 
"School  of  Athens"  i  Fig,  22,  page  167). 

In  making  a  practical  application  of  the  requirements  of 
order  and  of  the  methods  associated  with  it,  some  mem- 
ber of  a  class  is  always  considered  first,  after  which  are 
arranged  in  order  second,  third,  fourth,  and  other  members. 
But  of  all  these,  the  first  is  evidently  the  most  important. 
It  is  the  nucleus  about  which  the  others  are  grouped  ;  and, 
theoretically  considered,  we  should  judge  that  it  would  be 
typical  of  them  all.  Practically,  too,  it  is  so.  Classifica- 
tion is  invariably  begun  by  observing  a  few  details  charac- 
terising some  one  form  —  say  a  palm-tree  or  a  wolf  —  to 
which  is  given  what  is  sometimes  termed  principality. 
About  this  form  are  tlien  grouped  other  forms,  all  of  which 
are  said  to  belongs  as  the  case  may  be —  to  the  palm 
family  or  the  wolf  family.  In  art  the  concc[)tion  of  a  theme 
in  poetr\%  music,  painting,  scul[)ture,  or  architecture,  is 
identical  with  that  of  a  particular  form  apprehended  by 
the  mind.  When  this  form,  or,  if  it  be  only  such,  this  fea- 
ture is  '^Wcn  priiu'ipniity,  it  follows,  as  an  axiom,  that  all 
other  forms  or  fcatui'es  associated  with  it  must  be  given 
subordiiiation.      See  the  chart  on  page  277. 

Once  more,  wherever  there  is  a  principal  factor  and  also 
a  subordinate,  or  many  subordinate  factors,  the  endeavour 
to  arrange  them  together  leads  to  what  is  termed  balance. 
ji'ilance  is  an  effect  of  an  ecpiilibriuni  obtained  b\-  arrang- 
\\v^  like  features  on  both  sides  of  a  real  or  ideal  centre.      It 


286  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS 

makes  no  difference  whether  the  features  be  alike  \\\  quari- 
tity,  which  is  the  first  suggestion  given  by  the  word,  or  in 
quahty.  AU  that  is  necessary  is  that  in  some  way  they 
should  be  or  seem  alike.  In  this  regard  balance  differs 
from  either  coiiiplcmciit  or  counteraction  ;  for  in  both  of 
these  an  essential  consideration  is  unlikeness.  At  the 
same  time,  all  three  have  much  in  common.  One  arm,  for 
instance,  thrust  forward  from  a  bending  bod\-  and  one  leg 
thrust  backward  from  it,  may  contrast  strongly  in  both 
appearance  and  position  ;  and  in  this  regard  may  resemble 
complement.  Undoubtedl\-,  too,  they  counteract  each 
other.  But  because  they  present  an  appearance  of  equi- 
librium in  that  like  quantities  seem  to  be  on  each  side  of 
the  centre,  our  first  thought  is  not  that  they  complement 
or  counteract,  but  that  they  balance. 

The  close  connection  between  these  three,  couiplcnient, 
counteraction,  and  balance,  accounts  for  the  fact  that  in 
ordinary  language  and  conception  they  are  not  clcarl}- dis- 
tinguished. Nor  is  it  often  important  that  the}-  should  be. 
In  one  regard,  at  least,  they  are  all  alike.  The\-  are  all  de- 
velopments of  the  same  principle.  Coinplenioit  produces 
unity  in  a  natural  way  from  things  different.  Counterac- 
tion applies  the  principle  underlying  complement  to  things 
that  are  not  complementary  by  nature  ;  and  balance,  ^o\\\^ 
still  farther,  applies  the  same  principle  to  things  that  may 
be  neither  complementary  nor  counteractive,  in  such  a 
way  as  to  gi\'e  a  more  satisfactory  appearance  to  the  form 
by  adding  to  it  an  effect  of  equilibrium.  .\  still  later 
development  of  the  same  principle,  preceding  which,  how- 
e\'er,  there  need  to  be  some  inter\-ening  stages,  results  in 
syjninetry.     See  chart  on  page  277. 

To  notice  the  ways  i;i  which  the  methods  that  ha\'e  just 
been  mentioned  may  be  applied  in  each  of  the  arts,  a  icw 


PRINCIPALITY  AND    SUBORDINATION.  28/ 

notes--only  the  suggestion,  perhaps,  of  a  melody- — furnish 
a  form  and  with  it  ?i  principal  theme  expressive  of  some 
musical  idea.  Other  subordinate  series  of  notes,  sup- 
posed for  some  reason  to  be  more  or  less  like  the  first,  or, 
if  not,  at  least  conipleuientiiif:;,  conntcracting,  or  balancing 
it  or  one  another,  are  arranged  in  order  about  it,  and 
through  the  use  of  them  is  developed  a  work  like  a  sym- 
phony. A  few  phrases  containing  certain  accented  and 
unaccented  syllables,  perhaps  only  one  word  like  the 
"  Nevermore  "  of  Foe's  ''  Raven,"  furnish  a  form  and  with 
it  a  principal  theme  expressive  of  some  poetic  idea  ;  and 
by  a  similar  process  there  is  developed  a  whole  poem. 
Sometimes  a  chorus  or  refrain  at  the  end  of  successive 
stanzas  illustrates  principalit}-,  c.  g.  : 

Home,  liome  !   sweet,  sweet  lumie  ! 

Be  it  ever  ><)  humble,  there  's  no  phxce  like  liome  1 

I/oiii,-,  Stcc'c/  IIodu-  :  Pavne. 

Sometimes  the  principal  thing  may  be  some  grand 
event  of  historic  or  religious  importance,  to  which  all  the 
other  events  that  are  mentioned  are  subordinate,  mainl\- 
sci^ving.  by  way  of  comparison  or  ccjntrast,  to  give  it 
greater  prominence.  Notice  how  the  keynote  of  the 
whole  of  1  lomer's ''Odx'ssey  "  is  strtick  and  foreshadowed 
in  its  opening  sentence: 

Tell  me,  <)  illume,  <;f  that  s:"ii;aci(uis  man 
Will),  luuiii;^  iiverthri  iwn  the  -^arred   town 
Of  Iliuiu,  waiiilered  far  ami  \i--ilc(l 
The  ('apitak  (if  many  natiMn>,  learneil 
The  rii^tnms  nf  their  ilweller^,  ami  emlnred 
(ireat  ^-iifferiliL;-^  nii  the  deep;    hi>  life  was  oft 
In  ])cril,  as   he    lalinured  t"  liriiiL;   liaek 
Hi-  1  Mnirades  to  their  home-. 

Brviiul's  Trans. 


288  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 

Usually,  the  principal  idea  in  a  symphony  or  a  poem  is 
embodied  in  a  principal  form.  This  may  be  a  certain 
kind  of  metre,  rhythm,  phrase,  or  verse  ;  but  notice  that, 
whatever  it  be,  it  constantly  involves  manifestations  of 
principality,  subordination,  and  balance.  In  metre,  the 
accented  note  or  syllable  is  the  principal  thing,  to  \vhich 
the  unaccented  notes  or  syllables  are  subordinated  ;  and 
the  unaccented  syllables  balance  also  the  accented.  Con- 
secutive musical  phrases  usually  balance  one  another  by 
forming  alternating  upward  and  downward  movements. 
So  also  do  poetic  couplets,  especially  when  they  end  with 
rhymes.  All  through  music  and  poetry,  too,  we  find  a 
constant  tendency  to  secure  effects  of  balance  by  repeat- 
ing the  same  sounds  at  least  twice,  e.  g.  : 

ISright  bank  over  hank 
Making  glorious  the  gloom. 
Soft  >a>!k  U]i()n  rank, 
Straii<,fe  bloom  upon  bloom. 
They  kindle  the  liquid  L-o  twiliglu  and  itiisk  of  the  dim  sea's  womb. 

Off  Skore  :   Swinburne. 

In  painting  and  sculpture  the  principal  object  is  some- 
times brought  into  prominence  by  being  made  larger  than 
the  subordinate  objects.  This  was  the  old  Eg\-ptian 
method.  According  to  Miss  Edwards,  in  her  "  Thou- 
sand Miles  up  the  Nile,"  in  the  pictures  still  remaining 
in  the  tomb  of  Ti,  near  the  site  of  ancient  Memphis,  the 
figures  of  the  principal  character  are,  iii  all  cases,  about 
eight  times  as  large  as  those  of  the  servants  represented 
as  at  work  around  him.  Sometimes,  as  in  some  of  the 
"Madonnas"  of  the  old  masters,  the  principal  figure, 
though  no  larger  in  itself,  is  made  to  have  a  larger  effect 
by  being  elevated  on  a  throne  or  in  clouds.  Sec  Ra- 
phacTs  "  Transfiguration,"  Fig.  54,  page  289.     Sometimes 


FIG  54       TRANSFIGURATION.      RAPHAEL. 
See  pai;c.s  242,  2^-;,  2<j5  aiul  298. 
2.^9 


290  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AiSTI/F.  TICS. 

this  figure  is  in  the  foreground,  as  the  gladiator  in  Ch- 
rome's '■  PoHice  Verso,"  Fig.  4,  page  41,  or  as  the  central 
character  in  Raphael's  "Ananias,"  Fig.  37,  page  233. 
Sometimes,  in  connection  with  these  other  methods,  the 
leading  outlines  of  pictures  are  made  to  radiate  from  the 
chief  figure,  as  from  the  Christ  in  the  air,  in  Raphael's 
tapestry  of  the  "  Conversion  of  St.  Paul  "  ;  or  from  the 
gladiator  in  Gerome's''  Poleice  Verso,"  F'ig.  4,  page  41. 
Sometimes  a  figure  is  made  most  prom.inent  by  the  use  of 
colour,  as  b\'  red  drapery  given  to  the  ClHi>t  in  Titian's 
"Scourging  of  Christ";  and  sometimes  by  a  use  of  light 
and  shade,  the  former  being  concentrated  Avhere  it  will 
necessarily  attract  attention.  In  Rubens's  "  Descent  from 
the  Cross,"  Fig.  i,  frontispiece,  a  white  sheet,  the  w  hitest  ob- 
ject in  the  picture,  is  placed  behind  the  form  of  the  Christ. 
In  Correggio's  "  Holy  Night,"  all  the  brightness  in  the 
picture  is  reflected  from  that  which  illumines  the  face  of 
the  infant  Jesus.  It  is  needless  to  say  at  what  the  spec- 
tator loo]<s  first  when  viewing  these  works.  He  at  once 
recognises  the  principality  of  the  form  about  which  all 
the  light  is  massed.  When,  in  either  painting  or  sculp- 
ture, the  whole  \\-ork  contains  but  a  single  figure,  the 
relati\'e  prominence  of  merch' different  parts  of  this  must 
sliow  the  influence  of  these  metliods.  In  the  woman  in 
P^ig.  36,  page  231,  the  hand  upon  the  breast  seems  to  give 
])i'incipalit_\'  to  the  heart,  the  seat  of  the  affections.  The 
erect  head  on  the  "Apollo,"  P'ig.  23,  page  170,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  commantling  gesture,  gives  princi|)ality  to 
tliis,  the  seat  of  the  directing  power,  or  of  authority.  In 
aixhitecture,  principality  is  attained  by  making  prominent 
a  porch,  as  in  P^'g.  28.  page  219  :  or  a  window,  as  in  P^ig. 
29,  page  220;  or  domes  or  spires,  as  in  P^ig.  79,  page  354 
oi'  I'ig-  33>  p;^g^  --26. 


BALAIVCE. 


291 


The  numbers  of  ways  in  which  effects  of  balance  may 
be  secured  in  these  visible  arts,  especiaUy  in  painting, 
seem  practically  infinite.  As  a  method,  too,  it  is  almost 
universal.  In  Gerome's  "  Pollice  Verso,"  Fig  4,  page  41, 
a  gladiator's  limbs  stretched  upon  the  ground  on  one  side 
of  his  triumphant  antagonist  are  exactly  balanced  by  the 
armour  that  has  been  stripped  from  them,  which  lies  on 
the  other  side  of  the  victor;  while  the  arm  of  the  latter, 
lifted  that  his  sword  may  strike,  is  balanced  by  his  vic- 
tim's arm  lifted  to  appeal  for  mercy.      In  the  first  case, 


.^, 


FIG.    55. -A   SMALL   HOUSE. 
See  pages  2ijj  and  302. 


we  have  an  instance  of  balance  produced  in  spite  of 
decided  contrast  between  the  baLmcing  members.  As 
exemplified  in  the  human  figure,  and  so  in  sculpture,  bal- 
ance can  never  be  fully  undei'>t(j<Kl,  except  as  it  is  treated 
in  connection  with  both  syi)iiiiciry  \\\\i\  pro[^ortion.  Here 
it  is  sufficient  to  ])oint  out  that,  as  a  lule,  in  order  to 
secure  variet\',the  limbs  of  the  two  sides  of  the  body  should 
be  in  somewhat  different  positions.  Jf  this  arrangement 
be  adopted,  nature  retpiires  that  a  man  should  kci-p  his 
ecpiilibriuni,   and   art   that   lie   .sliould   seem   to   keep  it  by 


l()2 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  MSTIIETICS. 


showing  an  exertion  in  one  direction  sufficient  to  counter- 
act that  made  in  the  other.  For  this  reason,  when  one  is 
gesturing,  or  appearing  to  gesture,  his  hands  and  head,  if 
the  latter  be  not  kept  erect,  should  make  counteracting 
movements.  The  head  should  move  toward  the  hands 
when  they  are  lifted,  and  away  from  them  when  they 
fall.     Or  if  he  be   posing,  and  an  arm  be  thrust  out  on 


FIQ.   56— WILLESDEN   CHURCH,   NEW    LONDON. 

See  pages  293  aiul  302. 


one  side  of  him,  his  other  arm,  or  his  head  or  his  hip, 
should  be  thrust  out  on  his  other  side,  sufficiently  at  least 
to  secure  an  effect  of  equilibrium.  Notice  Fig.  42,  page 
237,  and  h^ig.  45.  page  239.  The  necessity  in  art  of  seeming 
to  carry  out  such  requirements,  cspccialh'  where  postures 
are  unusual,  presents  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties  which 
the  painter  or  sculptor  has  to  encounter. 


BALANCE.  293 

In  architecture,  it  is  possible  for  one  subordinate  feat- 
ure to  complement  the  principal,  as  a  wing,  or  porch,  or 
door  at  one  side  of  a  house  may  balance  the  whole  facade 
of  the  building  to  which  it  is  attached  (Fig  55,  page 
291);  or  as  a  tower  at  one  side  or  corner  may  offset  the 
body  of  a  church  (Fig.  56,  page  292}.  However, 
such  arrangements  are  in  place  mainly  in  smaller 
buildings,  in  which  graceful  and  picturesque  effects  are 
desirable.  In  the  degree  in  which  a  building,  like  a 
church,  a  court-house,  or  a  school,  is  to  be  devoted  to  a 
serious  purpose,  it  should  conx'cy  an  impression  of  dig- 
nity. In  art,  as  in  life,  this  effect  results  from  an  ap- 
pearance of  perfect  ecjuilibrium.  In  architecture  it  is 
secured  in  the  degree  in  which  the  principal  entrance  is 
exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  facade,  with  an  equal  num- 
ber of  subordinate  features,  tov.'crs,  pillars,  or  openings, 
as  the  case  may  be,  on  cither  side  of  it.  Notice,  as  ex- 
emplifying this  arrangement,  ''Cologne  Cathedral,"  Fig. 
33,  page  226;  tlie  "Taj  ^lahal,"  Fig.  53,  page  281;  "St. 
Mark's,  Venice,"  Fig.  34,  page  227,  or  l-'ig.  79,  page  354. 

In  the  chart  on  page  277  it  was  intimated  that  princi- 
palit}',  subordination,  and  balance  together  cause  an  art- 
product  to  have  orgiDiic  forui.  In  nature  an  organic  as 
distinguished  from  an  inorganic  form  is  one  of  greater 
or  lesser  degrees  of  complexity,  pervaded  everywhere  by 
channels  or  organs  through  which  flow  effects  that  influ- 
ence ever}-  part  of  the  foi'm,  Init  of  it  only,  be)'oiul  the 
contour  of  whicli  the\'  cease  to  opei'ate.  Trees  and  ani- 
mals, f(;r  instance,  with  their  \'arious  circulatory  s}'stems, 
ai'e  organic.  Sand  and  c]a\-  ai'e  not.  To  say,  therefore, 
that  the  products  of  art  slKmld  hax'e  organic  foian  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  they  should  be  chaiaxteiised  by 
effects   analogous    to    those    prcKluced     b\'    the    forms    of 


294  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

objects  that  have  what  \vc  term  life.  This  statement  will 
cause  some  of  us  to  recall  that  Plato  named  head,  trunk, 
and  feet  as  the  three  essential  features  in  every  work  of 
art;  and  Aristotle,  recalling  the  fact  that  all  products  do 
not  appeal  to  the  eye,  and  cannot  seem  to  have  visible 
bodies,  tried  to  state  a  principle  more  general  in  its  reach 
by  declaring  that  they  should  all  have  beginning,  middle, 
and  end.  But  both  statements  are  virtually  the  same, 
and  together  are  inclusive  of  all  possible  artistic  applica- 
tions of  the  subject.  The  first  applies  literally  to  forms 
that  appear  in  space,  the  second  to  those  that  appear  in 
time.  Both  mean  that  tiiere  should  be  such  an  order  in 
the  arrangement  of  the  parts  constituting  the  form  as  to 
cause  all  the  parts  to  seem  to  be  organically  connected 
with  one  whole,  and  this  whole  to  seem  to  possess  all  the 
parts  necessary  to  render  it  complete. 

This  is  a  principle  recognised  as  essential  in  every  art. 
Here,  for  instance,  are  the  various  elements  and  develop- 
ments of  a  musical  periodic  form,  as  given  by  Marx  in 
his  "Theory  and  Practice  of  Musical  Composition"  : 

lieginniiig  Mitliile  End 

Repose  Mnti(in  KL-]i(ise 

Tonic  Scale  Tonic 

Repose  Motion  Repose  Motion  Repose 

Tonic  Tonic  Scale  Tonic  Sva  Tonic  Scale       Tonic 

Tfjnic  Mass       Motion  Half  Cadence  Motion  Full  Cadence 

Repose  Motion  Repose 

First  Part  Second  Part  Third  Part 

S  Measures  S  or  16  Meas.  S  Measures 

Rejiose  Motion  Repose 

Here  is  an  example  of  poetic  organic  form: 

Home  tliey  brought  lier  warrior  dead  ; 

She  nnr  swDon'd,  nor  utterM  cry  : 
All  her  mai'leiis,  \\'atching,  said, 

"  She  mu-t  weep  nr  she  will  die." 


ORGANIC    FORM.  295 

Then  they  praised  liim,  soft  and  low 

CallM  liim  worthy  to  be  loved, 
Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe  ; 

Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  nioved. 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place, 

Liylitly  to  the  warrior  stejit. 
Took  the  face-cloth  fr(jm  the  face  : 

Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 

Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years. 

Set  his  child  upon  her  knee — 
Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears — 

"  Sweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 

'J'/w  Princess  ■    Tentiyson. 

The  most  uncultured  mind  recognises  the  superior  at- 
tractiveness of  paintings,  statues,  or  buildings  that  seem 
to  have  "some  head  and  tail," — an  expression  indicating 
how  well  people  in  general  appreciate,  in  the  arts  appeal- 
ing to  sight,  the  characteristics  that  Plato  designated  b\- 
the  terms  head,  trunk,  and  feet.  In  arranging  a  number  of 
objects  or  individuals  to  be  represented  in  the  same  })icture, 
an  artist  will  almost  invariabl}-  place  the  larger  or  more 
prominent  in  the  centre  or  at  the  toj),  thus  giving  the 
group  a  head  ;  and  the  others  on  either  side  or  below,  thus 
giving  it  a  trunk  and  feet  ;  ^\•hile  he  will  dispose  of  all  the 
members  in  such  waj-s  that  the  contour  of  the  group,  as 
outlined  b\-  all  their  forms  together,  shall  seem  to  have 
some  shape  —  that  suggesting  a  circle,  an  arch,  or  a  p)-ra- 
mid,  as  the  case  may  be.  See  Fig.  8,  page  96;  Fig.  19, 
page  123,  and  h'ig.  54,  ]jage  289. 

In  architecture,  the  foundation  corresponds  to  the  foot, 
the  wall  to  the  trunk,  and  the  roof  totlie  head.  v\ll  these 
features  takfi'.  together  may  present  elfects  of  grouping 
similar  to  tho■^e  in  painting  and  sculpt  ui'e.  The  variotis 
projections,   gables,   pediments,    chimne_\'s,   domes,  spires, 


296  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF   .ESTHETICS. 

whatever  the\-  ma}-  be.  that  make  u[)  the  wings  and  roofs, 
may  be  arranged  so  that,  taken  together,  the)'  can  be  in- 
scribed in  a  low  or  a  high  arch,  rounded  or  sharpened  Hke 
a  pyramid.  As  a  rule,  the  greater  the  appearance  of  the 
exercise  of  design  in  the  organic  arrangement  of  these 
features,  the  more  satisfactory  are  they  to  the  eye  that 
looks  to  find  in  them  the  results  of  art.  (See  the  "  Chinese 
Temple,"  Fig  52.  page  280;  the  "Taj  Mahal."  Fig.  53, 
]:)age  281  ;  "St.  Mark's,  Venice,"  Fig.  34,  page  227,  and 
Fig.  79,  page  354.) 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ART-CO  MPOSITIOX  —  COXTIXUED. 

Congruity,  Incongruity,  and  Comprehensiveness  —  Central-Point,  Setting, 
and  I'arallelisni  —  In  Music  and  I'oetry  —  In  Arts  of  Sights — Symmetry 
—  Repetition,  Alteration,  and  Alternatinn  in  Music  and  I'oetry — In 
xVrts  of  Sights — Massing  in  Mu>ic  and  Poetry — Massing  or  Preadth  in 
Painting — Illustrations — In  Sculpture  and  Architecture — Intersjiersion 
and  Complication — Continuity — Music  and  Poetry — In  Arts  of  Sight  — 
Consonance — Distinguished  from  Congruity  and  Kipetition — Disso- 
nance and  Interchange — The  Latter  in  Painting — (iradation  and  Ah- 
rujjtness — In  Music  and  P(jetry — Transition  in  Same  Arts — (Iradatioii 
and  Abruptness  in  Colour — In  Outline — In  Architecture — Progre.-,>  in 
Painting  and  Sculpture — -In  Architecture — ^Completeness  of  this  An- 
alysis of  the  Methods  of  Art-Composition 

OF  the  remaininij  methods  of  .'trt-coniposition,  men- 
tioned in  the  chart  on  page  277,  the  grouping  of  fac- 
t'jrs  which  corresponds  to  such  classification  as  restdts  from 
c(;nnecting  objects  because  of  hke  effects  produced  tipon 
tlie  iniiui  by  way  of  association  or  suggesticjn,  is  termed  con- 
'^riiity  (from  cuii,  together,  and  grno,  to  grow  ).  It  means 
that  two  things  are  conceiv^ed  of  as  nattiraUy  growing  or 
going  t(jgether;  and  it  may  catise  them  to  be  connected 
wlieii  in  reahty  tliey  are  as  imhke  as  tlie  sounds  of  a  cliui'ch 
bell  and  of  an  organ,  or  as  the  crape  of  a  widow's  garb  and 
a  white  face.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  show  that  thepiin- 
ciple  (A  variety  applied  U)  congruit\'  leads  to  iiicaiigriiity, 
or  that  both  together  lead  to  coDiprcItoisivoicss.  V n\-  in- 
stance,  in   the    earliest    composed    overture  (jf    Wagner's 

297 


298  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .ESTHETICS. 

"  Tannhauser,"a  slow  choral,  representative  of  the  religious 
element,  is  at  first  entirely  interrupted  by  wild  contrasting 
movements,  representing  the  surgings  of  the  passions; 
then,  after  a  little,  it  reappears  again,  gains  strength,  and 
finally  b\'  main  force  seems  to  crush  the  others  down,  and  in 
the  final  strain  entirely  to  dominate  them.  Here,  in  the 
blending  of  the  most  intensely  spiritual  and  material  of 
motives,  is  i)icongniity,  and  with  it  a  compreJicnsivcncss  in- 
cluding the  widest  extremes.  Yet  how  artistically  the  like 
■  features  are  grouped  with  like,  and  each  phase  of  expres- 
sion made  to  couiplcuioit  the  other  ;  and  when  the  two 
clash,  \\o\\ principality  gets  the  better  of  what  would  else 
be  insubordinate,  and  reduces  all  to  order!  Again,  in  the 
upper  p^irt  of  Raphael's  "  Transfiguration,"  Fig.  54,  page 
289,  supposed  to  represent  the  summit  of  a  mountain,  are 
the  glorified  forms  of  Christ,  Moses,  and  Elias,  prostrate  be- 
neath whom  are  three  apostles,  while  two  saints  kneel  rev- 
erently beside  them.  At  the  bottom  of  the  })icture  are 
others  of  the  apostles,  supposed  to  be  not  so  near  the  sum- 
mit, endeavouring  in  vain,  amid  the  distress  and  conster- 
nation of  the  spectators,  to  cast  out  an  evil  spirit  from  a 
boy  whom  he  is  tormenting.  Few  can  fail  to  recognise  the 
antithetic  incongruity  hiAXxoi  thought  and  form  between 
the  two  parts  of  the  j)icture,  and,  together  with  this,  the 
grouping  oi  like  with  like,  so  as  to  cause  the  one  part  to 
complement  the  other.  Besides  this,  and  because  of  it,  the 
picture  is  comprehensi-ee,'ds  would  not  otherwise  be  possible, 
of  tlie  entire  range  of  spiritual  power  on  earth,  all  the  wa\- 
from  the  raptiire  of  the  Christ  transfigured  by  the  power 
of  the  Deity  to  the  terror  of  the  bo\-  transfixed  by  that 
of   tlie  Du\-il. 

On  i)age  277  tlie  methods  mentioned  next  after  congruity, 
becau.^e  tlie   mo>t  nearl\-   connected   with   it,  are  such  as 


CENTRAL   POINT  AND    PARALLELISM.  299 

have  to  do  with  dividing  up  the  time  and  space  occupied 
by  congruous  or  incongruous  features  in  Avays  intended 
to  produce  effects  of  hkeness,  in  spite  of  opposing  sug- 
gestions in  the  forms.  It  will  be  found,  for  instance,  that 
by  distributing  objects  on  lines,  real  or  ideal,  meeting  at  a 
central-point,  or  in  some  regular  way,  upon  a  circumferen- 
tial setting  for  this,  all  the  features  of  a  composition  can  be 
made  to  become,  in  almost  equal  degrees,  factors  of  the 
same  general  effect.  So,  by  adjustments  of  a  composition, 
a  relationship  by  means  ol parallelism  may  be  created,  say 
between  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  or  a  flute  and  the  rattle  of 
a  drum,  or  between  the  body  of  a  horse  and  the  road  over 
which  he  moves;  or  between  the  forms  of  bushes  and  of 
the  robes  of  men,  although,  at  the  same  time,  none  of  these 
things,  when  compared,  are  sufficiently  alike  in  thcmscK-es 
to  be  grouped  distinctively  by  way  of  repetition  or  conso- 
nance. The  same  is  true,  too,  of  the  representation  of  the 
balancing  of  the  outlines  or  accents  of  many  different 
features,  some  of  thein  radicall}'  unlike  in  many  regards, 
which  we  find  in  symmetry. 

In  music  and  poetry,  eentralpoint  is  illustrated  by 
movements  or  words  that  seem  to  bring  ever)-tliiiig  to  a 
climax  or  p(;int,  as  we  say  ;  se/tim;',  b\'  that  w  hich  is  dis- 
cursive or  digressi\"e ;  and  parallelism,  1)\'  simultanecnis 
effects  or  movements  that  are  similar,  as  in  two  parts 
sung  in  unison  ;  two  phrases  repeating  tlie  same  thcnu,- ; 
two  lines  exprc:ssing  the  same  idea,  or  forming  wliat  in 
poetry  is  calli'd  a  couplet.  In  ancient  Ilehrew  poeti'x', 
wliat  is  tei'med  parallelisni  fulfilled  both  these  last 
two  recpiirements,  e.  g.  : 

Thy  fierce  \\  ratli  Ljuet'i  nvvv  iiic  ; 

Tliy  .11 II  ir-,  liavr  i  iiI   im-  oil'. 

'I'licy  came  ruuinl  alxuil.  nic  dailv  like;  water  ; 


300  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

Tliey  comiiassed  me  about  together. 

Lover  anil  frieml  ba^t  tbou  put  far  from  me, 

Ami  mine  acquaintance  into  darkness,. 

Psalm  Ixx.xriii.,  j6,  ly,  i8. 

If  we  apply  these  principles  to  forni,  irrespective  of 
significance,  we  may  say  that  the  accents  are  like  so  man}' 
radiating  lines  that,  one  after  another,  keep  directing  at- 
tention to  the  movement — in  other  words, /c;/////.'/^'"  to  it. 
The  unaccented  sounds,  again,  that  connect  the  accented, 
determining  as  the\'  do,  and  as  the  accents  do  not,  the 
particular  rlu'thm  or  metre,  whether  double  or  triple, 
ma\'  be  said  to  furnish  \.\\q  form-setting,  while  the  series 
of  lines  or  phrases  correspond  exactl}',  as  was  said  a 
moment  ago,  to  the  series  of  lines  that  produce/'<'?rc?//(7/,sv// 
in  the  arts  of  sight.  The  resulting  organic-form  of  the 
movement,  as  secured  in  the  general  balance  throughout 
of  foot  and  line,  measures  the  degree  of  syDiiiietry. 
These  analogies  are  so  e\-ident  that  the\-  need  onl\-  to  be 
stated. 

Central-point,  as  used  in  the  arts  of  sight,  is  merely  a 
de\'elopment — sometimes,  as  is  the  case  with  many  effects 
in  art,  an  excessive  development — of  the  natural  fact  that 
two  points  in  the  extreme  distance  are  alwaws  related  to 
two  points  cc|ually  separated  but  nearer  us  in  such  a  way 
that,  if  there  were  parallel  lines  drawn  between  the  two 
pairs  of  points  and  extended  far  enough  into  space,  such 
lines  ^\•oldd  meet  in  the  distance  and  form  one  point.  See 
h^ig.  2,  page  3.  An  excellent  illustration  of  the  methods  of 
applying  this  principle,  as  well  as  setting  and  parailelisni, 
to  the  arts  of  sight  may  be  noticed  in  the  "  I'ollice  Wm'so," 
Fig.  4,  page  41.  In  the  centre  of  this  picture  a  gladiator 
stands  with  his  heel  on  the  neck  of  a  prostrate  antagonist, 
and   looks  up  for  a  signal  to  sa\'e  the  life  which   is  at  his 


PARALLELISM.  301 

mercy.  With  scarcely  an  exception,  the  crowd  of  specta- 
tors, who  fill  an  amphitheatre  above,  answer  this  appeal 
by  stretching  a  hand  towards  the  gladiator,  \\'\\.\\  the 
thumb  downward,  indicating  thus  their  desire  to  have  him 
show  no  mercy  to  his  fallen  antagonist.  Of  course,  all  the 
extended  arms,  by  pointing  as  they  do,  direct  attention  to 
the  gladiator  as  the  principal  object  of  interest,  and  also 
make  of  the  whole  picture  a  unity  both  in  thought  ?nd 
form.  But,  in  addition  to  this,  the  horizontal  outlines 
in  the  front  wall  of  the  amphitheatre,  which  concentrate 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  perspective,  also  the  outlines 
of  a  pillar  of  the  amphitheatre  and  of  one  prominent 
division  between  its  benches,  as  well,  too,  as  the  outlines 
of  the  forms  of  two  gladiators  already  slain  and  l}'ing  on 
the  ground, — all  these  are  given  such  directions  that 
they,  too,  point  toward  the  principal  figure.  Setting,  of 
course,  is  illustrated  in  the  lines  that  do  not  point  thus 
toward  a  common  centre.  Of  the  parallel  lines,  in  the 
painting  just  mentioned,  one  can  count  at  least  fifteen  that 
are  horizontal,  nine  of  them  formed  by  the  architectural 
work  with  rugs  hung  over  it,  which  is  in  front 
of  the  spectators,  and  six  by  the  bodies  of  gladiators 
lying  in  the  arena,  apparentU'  without  any  regard  to  the 
requirements  of  order,  just  where  they  have  been  slain. 
Besides  this,  in  the  same  picture  one  can  count,  including 
all  that  can  be  seen  in  pilasters,  pillars,  doors,  etc.,  almost 
sixty  of  these  lines  that  arc  perpendicular.  Among  the 
figures  of  tile  spectators,  at  least  six  extended  arms  are 
exactly  parallel;  so  is  the  dirk,  the  shield,  and  one  leg  of 
the  pi'inci[)al  figure;  and  his  arm  tliat  Injlds  the  dirk  is 
exactly  parallel  to  the  extended  arm  of  his  antagonist 
who  is  at   his  feel. 

Syniinietry   may    be    (k-fiiied    as     the    general     result   in 


302  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .ESTHETICS. 

organic  form  that  follows  a  due  regard  for  central-point, 
scttiiii^,  aud  pirr(r//i-/is//L  It  is  caused  often  by  a  balance, 
by  wa\'  of  parallelism,  of  all  the  features  that  are  on  cither 
side  of  a  common  centre.  S\'mmetry  in\-ol\-es  thus  the 
conception  of  many  pairs  of  balancing  features.  In  this 
sense  the  word  symmetrical  is  applied  by  \\  a\-  of  designa- 
tion to  certain  paintings,  especially  those  of  the  early 
Italians,  in  which  there  are  precisely  as  many  figures  on 
one  side  of  the  principal  figure  as  on  the  other  side. 
Notice  h'ig.  8,  page  96.  The  principle  of  zvrr/V/j',  however, 
which  we  find  everywhere  illustrated  in  nature  and  in  art 
must  not  be  supposed  to  be  entirely  inoperative  in  connec- 
tion with  s\-mmetry.  The  two  sides  of  even  a  very  s}-m- 
metrical  tree  do  not  exactly  correspond,  and  a  tree 
depicted  in  art  is  most  apt  to  ha\-e  the  appearance  of  life, 
if  the  same  be  true  of  it.  The  two  sides  of  a  man's  body 
ai'e  more  near!}-  alike  than  those  of  a  tree  ;  but  in  the 
degree  in  which  he  possesses  life  and  consequent  grace, 
they  will,  while  suggesting  likeness,  be  made  unlike  by 
the  positions  which  he  assumes.  Notice  the  gladiator  in 
Fig.  4,  page  41.  The  same  must  be  true,  to  some  extent, 
of  a  building.  As  was  said  on  page  293.  the  dignity  of 
effect  demanded  in  public  edifices  ma\-  sometimes  neces- 
sitate absolute  similarity  on  both  sides  of  the  centre,  as 
in  the  "  Taj  ]\Iahal,"'  Fig.  53,  page  281  ;  Fig.  79,  page  354, 
or  "St.  Mark's,  Venice,"  Fig.  34,  page  227.  But  graceful 
effects,  such  as  are  desirable  in  household  architecture, 
may  sometimes  be  best  secured  by  tlifference,  as  in  the 
villa  in  h^ig.  55,  page  291,  or  in  the  church  in  Fig.  56, 
page  292. 

The  art-grouping  which  corresponds  to  the  classifica- 
tion which  results  from  connecting  objects  because  of  like 
effects  ])roduced  upon  the  senses,  i.  e.,  upon  the  ears  and 


ALTERATION  AND  ALTERNATION.  303 

eyes,  is  termed  repetition.  Alteration  is  the  form  of 
variety  which  prevents  monotony  when  using  repetition, 
and  alternation  that  which  produces  effects  of  repetition 
at  the  same  time  with  those  of  variety.  It  is  hardly  neces- 
sary to  illustrate  these  methods  or  their  importance. 
Repetition  has  already  been  noticed  on  pages  269  to  575. 
It  can  scarcely  be  mentioned  here  without  suggesting  at 
once  a  reason  for  the  motives,  measures,  phrases,  lines, 
verses,  alliterations,  assonances,  and  rhymes  of  music  and 
poetry.  All  these  illustrate,  too,  both  alteration  and 
alternation.  Notice  this  motive  from  Beethoven's  Sonata 
in  D  min.  Op.  31,  with  imitation  in  contrary  motion; 


Every  measure  in  poetry,  too,  has  its  alternating 
accented  and  unaccented  syllables,  and  its  upward  and 
downward  tones.  Notice  also  in  this  single  couplet,  the 
alliterations  ( like  consonant  sounds),  assonances  (like  vowel 
sounds),  and  also  the  alterations  as  well  as  alternatiojis 
between  liounds  and  horn  and  rouse  and  morn. 

Oft  listening  ko:,>  the  /loiinds  and  horn 
Cheerily  xott^i:  the  .slumbering  wxorn. 

L  'Allegro  :  Milton. 

As  for  the  application  of  these  methods  in  the  arts  of 
sight,  it  is  only  necessary,  in  addition  to  what  was  said 
on  pages  279  and  280,  to  recall  for  the  reader  the  artistic 
effects  in  common  fringe  or  in  a  picket  fence,  or  in  a  row 
of  columns,  or  of  buttresses,  or  of  like  windows,  or  of 
trees,  to  cause  him  at  once  to  recognise  the  importance 
in  all  forms  of  artistic  elaboration  of  repetition  not  onl\-, 
but  also — as  in  like  intervening  sj)aces — of  alteration  and 
alternation. 


304  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  yp.STHETICS. 

Novv^  let  us  consider  the  methods  on  page  277  termed 
}iiassi)ig,  iiitcrspcrsion,  coiiiplicatioi,  i\r\d  coJitimiifj'.  Mass- 
ing' is  the  result  of  repetition  when  many  like  features  are 
brought  together  in  order  to  form  a  eeiitral-poiiit  of 
interest.  In  music,  it  is  this,  as  exemplified  in  the 
accumulations  of  the  effects  of  the  same  notes,  chords, 
or  instruments,  that  enables  us  to  recognise  the  peculi- 
arities distinguishing  passages  that  are  loud  or  soft, 
forcible  or  light,  gay  or  pathetic;  while  without  it  and 
its  reiterated  repetitions,  the  musical  cadence  or  climax 
as  heard  at  the  ends  of  compositions  or  of  prominent 
movements,  would  produce  little  impression.  In  poetry, 
massing  is  illustrated  in  passages  in  which  all  the  quali- 
ties that  render  an  object  or  character  distinctive 
seem  summed  up,  as  iii  the  following: 

What  a  piece  of  \v(3rk  is  man  !  IIow  noble  in  reason  !  IIow  intlnite  in 
faculties  !  In  form  and  mo\inL;  how  express  and  admirable  !  In  action 
how  like  an  angel  !      In  ajiprehension  liow  like  a  l;o(1  ! 

Ilainht,  a.,  2:   ShaktSpia)-e. 

The  term  vmssiiig,  together  with  the  term  hreadtJi 
which  latter  seems  to  indicate  that  which  is  the  result  of 
the  former,  is  applied  more  commonly  to  effects  in  the 
arts  that  are  seen  than  in  those  that  are  heard.  Some 
seem  to  suppose,  too,  that  both  ter:ns  should  be  confined 
to  effects  connected  with  light  and  shade  whereby  bright 
features  arc  put  with  bright,  and  dark  with  dark.  As  a 
result  of  such  arrangements,  a  breadth  of  distance  seems 
to  separate  the  objects  in  light  from  those  in  shade,  and 
a  corresponding  breadtJi  of  view  seems  to  be  afforded 
him  who  sees  them;  hence  the  term  breadth.  In  secur- 
ing this  effect,  the  artist  does  not  arbitrarily  make 
objects  bright  or  dim  in  order  to  have  them  correspond 
to  the  bright  or  dim  parts  of    the  picture  in  which  he 


CHIAROSCURO.  305 

wishes  to  place  them.  He  exercises  ingenuity  and  skill 
in  arranging  his  materials  so  as  to  bring  into  the  light 
objects  that  in  nature  are  bright  or  dim,  or  that  can  be 
made  so  in  nature  by  the  presence  or  absence  of  an 
illuminating  agent.  ]3esides  this,  too,  he  arranges  the 
light  so  as  to  fall  where  it  will  prove  most  effective.  In 
Titian's  "Entombment,"  it  is  made  to  illumine  a  figure 
in  the  foreground,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  sun 
is  represented  as  setting  in  the  background.  The  j^ainter 
produces  the  effect  by  supposing  the  sun's  rays  to  be 
reflected  from  a  cloud  in  advance  of  the  field  of  vision. 
Notice  also  what  was  said  on  page  290  of  the  way  in  which 
the  light  is  massed  by  Rubens  in  his  "Descent  from  the 
Cross"  ( iMg.  I,  frontispiece),  and  by  Correggio  in  his 
"Holy  Night."  Effects  of  light  and  shade,  especially  of 
tliose  produced  thus  through  massing,  are  usually  treated 
by  writers  upon  art  under  the  term  of  c//iaro-osci/ro, 
or  chiaroscuro. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that,  in  an}-  given 
picture,  there  may  not  be  more  than  one  place  where 
there  is  light  and  one  place  where  tlicre  are  shadows. 
According  to  fvcynolds  (Note  xxxix.  on  "The  Art  of 
Paintingr  "  ),  there  may  be  three  masses  of  light,  one  of 
which,  however,  he  would  make  more  prominent  than 
the  other  two,  thus  causing  all  tliree  together  to  fulfd 
the  methods  of  h(A\\ prhicihality  ww^l  brila)icc.  "  Pictures," 
sa\'s  S.  1'.  Long  in  his  "Art,  Its  Laws,  and  the  Reasons 
fcT  Them,"  I'.-say  \'I., — "  Pictures  possessing  breadth  of 
the  general  light  and  darlc  or  shade  are  not  only  ver\' 
effective,  but  they  likewise  give  gieat  rejjose  to  the  eve; 
whereas,  where;  tlie  lights  and  darks  are  in  sm.ill  portions, 
and  much  divided,  the  eye  is  disturbed  and  the  mind 
rendered    uneasy,  es})ecially  if  one   is   anxious   to   under- 

2(-) 


306  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  yl'.STH ETICS. 

stand  every  object  in  a  composition,  as  it  is  painful  to 
the  ear,  if  we  are  anxious  to  hear  what  is  s.iicl  in  com- 
pany, where  man\'  are  talkin^^  at  the  same  time.  Hence 
the  reason  why  portraits  malce  a  more  pleasinij 
picture  when  but  few  objects  are  introduced  into  the 
composition  than  when  the  person  is  covered  with  frills 
and  ruffles,  and  th.e  backi;'round  stuffed  like  a  'curiosity 
shop.'  "  Concerning  the  same  subject  Ruskin  says  in 
his  "Elements  of  Drawing,"  Letter  III.:  "Such  com- 
positions possess  higher  sublimity  than  those  wdiich  are 
more  mingled  in  their  elements.  They  tell  a  special  tale 
and  summon  a  definite  state  of  feeling.  We  have  not  in 
each  gray  colour  set  against  sombre,  and  sharp  forms 
against  sharp,  and  low  passages  against  low;  but  we  have 
the  dark  picture  with  its  single  ray  of  relief;  the  stern 
picture  with  only  one  tender  group  of  lines;  the  soft  and 
calm  picture  with  only  one  rock  angle  at  its  flank,  and 
so  on." 

Both  these  quotations  show  that  their  writers  include 
among  the  effects  of  massing  those  of  outline  as  well  as 
of  colour.  Thus  interpreted,  we  may  perceive  how  the 
effects  may  be  produced  both  in  sculpture  and  in  archi- 
tecture. In  the  latter,  an  exact  correspondence  to 
massing  in  painting  may  be  perceived  in  some  of  the 
older  castles  and  e\'en  churches  of  Europe,  where  all  the 
decoration  C(3nnected  with  the  forms  is  concentrated 
about  a  tower,  or  a  gateway,  or  a  door,  or  all  of  these 
together,  on  each  side  of  which  is  merely  a  wall  entirely 
blank  or  pierced  with  non-ornamental  opeinngs. 

There  is  no  necessity  for  dwelling  in  this  place  upon 
iiitcrspcrsiou.  In  all  the  arts  it  is  the  op[)osite  of  mass- 
ing, and  is  sufficiently  illustrated  in  what  is  s:iid  on  pages 
i8i  and  1S2  of  \.\\ii pictiirisqiic.   I'he  term  cainplicatiou,  like 


COM  PLICA  TION.  307 

paraHclisin,  continuity,  and  many  others  that  are  used  in 
art,  is  borrowed  from  the  relationslii[)s  of  lines.  It  means 
a  folding  or  blending  together  primarily  of  these,  but, 
secondarily,  of  any  forms.  Evidently,  too,  it  involves, 
like  massing,  tlie  presence  in  large  quantities  of  the 
features  to  which  it  is  applied.  In  fact,  the  greater 
the  number  of  themes  or  phrases,  say,  in  a  symphony,  the 
more  complicated,  as  a  rule,  are  its  movements;  and 
the  greater  the  number  of  trees  or  rocks  in  a  landscape,  the 
more  complicated,  as  a  rule,  are  the  factors  composing 
it.  Ikit  while  this  is  true,  these  factors,  if  complicated  in 
an  artistic  manner,  may  always  be  ])resented  in  a  certain 
order.  "When,"  says  Charles  lilanc,  in  his  "Ornament 
ill  Art  and  Dress,"  "the  surface  oi'iiamented  according 
to  Arabian  taste  has  no  dominant  subject  indicated  by 
its  isolation  or  b\"  its  colour,  the  spectator  has  only  before 
him  an  assemblage  regularly  confused  of  triangles,  loz- 
enges, wheels,  Iialf-mooiis,  trefoils,  imperfect  pentagons, 
and  unfini.^hed  me:in(h;rs,  which  penetrate,  intersect,  bal- 
ance, and  conespond  to  each  other,  approach  to  /etreat, 
and  touch  one  moment  to  de[)art  the  next,  and  dissolve 
themselve;;  in  a  lab}'rinth  without  outlet  and  without 
end.  The  Aral'js  have  thus  realised  the  strange  phenom- 
en(jn  which  consists  in  producing  an  apparent  disorder 
by  means  of  the  most  riidd  order." 

If  we  allow  any  single  feature  entering  into  coiiif^licat ion 
—  one  of  its  line^^,  say  —  to  be  interrupted  as  it  must  be- 
wherever  an  application  of  the  method  (jf  intorsf^crsion 
causes  anrjther  fe.iture  or  line  to  cross  it  and  f(M"  a  time 
to  tak'e  its  [jlace.  that  wliich  conveys  to  us  an  ini[)ressi()n 
of  unity  nitwitli-tiindin'.;'  intcrs/ursu>n  is  \\\o  rr.ippearance 
of  the  feature  oi'  line  that  has  disappeared.  This  con- 
tinued  rea[j[)earance   of   the  same    line    or    feature    is    an 


308  THE   ESSENTIALS    OF  yESTHETICS. 

effect  of  continuity.  Contiiiuitv  makes  a  composition 
whicli  begins  in  one  \va\-,  in  either  time  or  space,  keep 
on  in  the  same  way  to  its  end.  Just  as  syini/irtry  tends 
to  cause  all  parts  of  an  outlined  form  to  be  equally 
balanced  about  a  common  centre,  coiitimiitv  tends  to 
cause  them  all  to  be  equally  connected  with  a  common 
mass  or  materiality.  All  musical  or  poetical  compo- 
sitions, especially  those  of  the  latter  that  have  occult 
and  intricatel}'  developed  plots,  manifest,  of  course, 
more  or  less  of  coinplicatioii  and  a  tendency  to  i)itcr- 
spcrsiou.  The  important  matter,  in  such  cases,  is  to 
have  one  aim  so  running  through  and  pervading  the 
parts  that  all  can  be  recognised  to  have  continuity.  Here 
is  a  very  literal  example  of  both  complication  and  con- 
tinuity in  poetic  form  : 

Here  \\u  arc  riiliiiL;  tlie  rail, 

(ilidiiiL;  frijin  nut  of  ilie  vtatinii  ; 
Man  though  I  am,  I  am  ['ale. 

Certain  of  lieat  and  \exaiion, 
Cilidiny  from  out  of  the  station. 

Out  from  the  city  ^^■e  thru-t  ; 
Certain,  of  Iieat  and  N'exation, 

Sure  to  lie  covered  witli  dust. 
J-'roiii  I] II  Kuiitc,  A  Pivitou'ii  i'V  Braihitr  J/ti///ic7^:\f. 

In  the  arts  o(  sight,  the  idea  to  be  specially  held  in 
mind  in  connection  with  continuity  is  that  it  is  an  ele- 
ment of  unit}'.  So  if  in  a  foreground  there  be  a  row  or 
group  of  trees  stretching  backward  intcrru[)ted  by  a  plain, 
it  is  well  if,  farther  back,  the  same  line  of  direction  be 
carried  on,  if  not  by  trees,  then,  say,  by  a  ri\'er,  and  still 
farther  in  the  extreme  distance,  b\-  the  side  of  a  hill  or 
b\"  a  path  upon  this  hill,  See  the  wa\-  in  \\-hich  such 
lines  are  continued  across  the  entire  canvas  in  Turner's 
"Decline    of    Carthage,"     hh'g.     57,   page    309.       Similar 


3IO  THE    ESSE.VTIALS    OF  .KSriTETICS. 

arranL^enicnts  may  characterise  fi^'ures  as  represented  in 
either  painting  or  sculpture.  Notice  tliis  in  the  direc- 
tions taken  by  the  different  limbs  of  the  fii^ures  in  the 
"Laocoon,"  Fig.  19,  page  123.  In  architecture,  every 
one  must  have  obser\-ed  that,  as  a  rule,  we  derive  much 
satisfaction  from  a  building  in  which  the  window-caps  in 
the  same  story  and  the  window-sides  in  all  the  stories 
form  together  one  often  interrupted,  but  \-et  continuous 
line.  Notice  the  University  at  Sydney  ihh'g.  21,  page 
1271;  also  the  lines  in  the  groined  ceiling  in  l^everley 
]\Iinstcr  (^Fig.  51,  page  266). 

The  art-grouping  which  corresponds  to  the  classifica- 
tion which  results  from  connecting  objects  because  alike 
in  pait  by  way  both  of  congruity  and  of  ripctition  is 
termed  consonance.  This  word  is  borrowed  from  music, 
and  it  applies  to  the  conditions  which  we  now  wish  to 
represent  by  it  far  more  exactly-  than  those  \\\\o  first  used 
it  su])posed.  A  consonant  tone  goes  with  another  in  art, 
not  only  because  men  have  found  the  \.\\o  goin-a;  together 
in  that  which,  when  heard  in  nature,  is  tern.ied  harmony; 
but  also,  as  \\-ill  be  sliown  on  pages  'xf'ii  to  365,  because 
the  one  tone  is  in  part  actually  repetitions  of  the  other, 
both  being  comi)ounded  In  part  of  Hke  tones. 

It  ma\-  be  well  to  add  h.ere,  in  illustration  of  these 
different  methods  of  likening  factors,  that  congrnity 
might  cause  the  artist  to  associate  in  a  })roduct  things  as 
different  essentiall\-  as  rouge  on  a  cheek  and  blontlined 
hair,  or  a  hunting  song  and  the  sound  of  a  horn;  that 
repetition,  ow  the  contrary,  would  demand  as  much  like- 
ness as  in  th.e  allied  factors  of  a  piece  of  fringe,  or  of  a 
picket-fence;  while  consonaiwe,  half-wa}-  between  the  two, 
woidd  1)0  satisfied  were  he  to  unite  souiuls  as  different  in 
some  regards  as  arc  those  of  the  tlute,  the  trumpet,  the 


IN  TER  CHA  NGE.  3 1 1 

violin,  and  the  drum,  or  shapes  as  different  in  some  re- 
i^ards  as  are  those  of  a  chimney  and  a  tower,  or  a  window 
and  a  porch.  In  architecture,  a  porch  or  a  bay-window 
on  one  side  of  a  building",  and  a  winij  or  hot-house  on 
the  other  side  of  it,  might  be  alike  by  way  of  congruity. 
Windows  and  doors  of  the  same  sizes  and  shapes  would 
be  alike  by  way  of  repetition;  but  merely  a  similar  pitch 
of  angles  over  windows  and  doors  and  in  the  gables  of 
a  roof  above  them,  would  be  enough  to  make  all  alike 
by  wa}"  of  eonsonaiiee. 

Dissoiianee  need  not  be  discussed  here.  It  is  the 
opposite  of  eoiisonaiiee  in  the  same  sense  in  which  variety 
is  the  opposite  of  unity,  and  eojifusion  the  opposite  of 
order.  In  music,  dissonant  efFects  are  introduced  through 
the  use  of  gongs  and  drums  and  occasional  chords  of  the 
seventh  or  the  ninth,  which  last  are  made  features  of  har- 
mony through  the  counteracting  influence  of  intere/ur/ige. 
This  latter  is  exerted  in  fulfilment  of  a  principle  ex- 
plained on  page  365  of  this  volume,  in  accordance  with 
which,  when  one  chord  passes  into  another,  at  least  one 
note  in  both  chords  is,  as  a  rule,  the  same. 

Iiitereluvige  in  painting  is  thus  illustrated  b\-  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds.  "If,  in  the  '  l^acchus  and  ^Vriadne'  of 
Titian, ' '  he  says,' '  we  supposed  tw(j  bits  of  colour  omitted, 
namely,  the  red  scarf  of  Ariadne  in  the  up])er  and  colder 
portion  of  the  picture,  and  a  blue  drapery  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  a  nymi)h  in  the  lower  and  warmer  portiori,  it 
would  leave  tile  composition  divided  into  two  masses  of 
colour,  the  cme  hot  and  the  other  cold  ;  the  warm  [)ortion 
com[)rehending  tlie  red-;,  x'cUows,  and  browns  of  the 
foregrf)und,  and  the  cold  pcnlioii  comprehending  the 
blues,  gi'ax's,  and  greens  of  llu;  -k\-  and  trees;  and  lliis, 
as  in  the  rainbow  with  the  green  (anilted,  woidd  be  pro- 


312  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

ductivc  of  L^rcat  breadth,  but  it  would  he  destructive  of 
union  an.d  con,sc([uently  of  liarmon\%  for  it  would  leave 
the  cold  and  warm  colours  as  entirely  unconnected  as 
though  the}-  were  separate  designs  on  one  canvas.  To 
correct  this,  and  restore  the  union,  Titian  has  carried  up 
the  warm  tints  of  the  foreground  into  the  sky  or  cold 
portion  of  the  picture  b\-  means  of  the  red  scarf  on  the 
shoulders  of  Ariadne,  and  brought  down  the  cold  tints 
of  the  sky  into  the  foreground  by  the  blue  mantle  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  n\-mph  in  the  lon'er  or  warmer  portion 
of  the  picture;  and  thus,  by  dividing  the  painting  into 
masses  of  warm  and  cold  colours  has  preserved  the  great- 
est breadth  ;  by  the  opposition  of  warm  and  cold  colours 
has  increased  their  splendour  :  b\-  exchanging  those  of  one 
side  for  those  of  another,  as  just  stated,  has  produced 
union  and  harmony:  and.  at  the  same  time,  preserved 
that  variet\-  so  charactcri-tic  of  nature's  colouring." 

The  final  methods  mentioned  in  the  chart  on  page  277 
are  grodai ion,  abniptiit-ss,  trctJisitioii ,  and  progress.  Wx 
the  first  of  these  's  riieant  an  arrangement  causing  oiie 
form  to  differ  from  a  second  according  to  the  same  mode 
and  sometimes  degree  in  which  this  second  differs  from 
a  third,  between  which  and  the  first  the  second  is  situ- 
ated. In  co]isona)iLC,  as  we  ha\'e  found,  forms  are  never 
exactly  alike;  and  if,  in  order  to  secure  the  effect  of 
unity,  we  try  to  arrange  them  so  as  to  seem  alike,  we 
are  necessaril\-  led  m'lo  gradatioji.  a  method  sustaining, 
for  this  reason,  the  same  relation  to  co)isoiiaiicc  as  pri)i- 
cipality  to  coi//porisoii,  coiitral-poiJit  to  coiigniity,  and 
inassi)ig  to  rLpLtitioii.  As  is  the  case  with  all  the  meth- 
ods to  wldch  it  corresponds,  gradatio)i  in  art  does  not 
exist  without  its  antithesis,  which  ma\-  be  termed 
abniptiuss.      Bv   this  is  meant   a   sudden    unforetokened 


GRADATION.  313 

change  from  one  theme,  key,  colour,  or  outline,  to  an- 
other. Of  course,  a  composition  in  which  there  is  much 
of  it  can  have  but  little  unity.  In  spite  of  occasional 
abruptness,  however,  chani^es  may  take  place  sufficiently 
in  accordance  with  the  tendencies  of  gradation  to  form 
a  nexus  between  what  precedes  and  what  follows,  so 
that,  in  spite  of  the  change,  every  one  can  perceive  the 
connection  of  the  one  part  with  the  other.  This  nexus 
is  called  a  transition.  Finally,  consonance,  dissonance, 
interchange,  gradation,  ahrnptness,  and  transitioi,  all 
together  and  in  different  ways  when,  on  the  whole, 
there  is  a  continued  forward  movement,  result  in  artistic 
progress. 

In  music  and  poetry  we  find  illustrations  of  gradation  in 
all  the  elements  that  enter  into  sound,  nameh',  time, 
force,  pitch,  and  quality.  We  notice  it  wherever  we  find 
great  regularity  of  time  or  rhythm,  with  the  gradual  swell- 
ing and  sinking,  and  rising  and  falHng,  of  the  accent  and 
pitch  which  necessaril\'  accompany  such  a  rhythm.  In 
poetry  there  is  a  phase  of  the  method  termed  p/ionetic 
gradation.  This  is  produced  by  an  arrangement  of  vowels 
or  consonants  such  as  to  cause  their  sounds  to  follow 
one  another  in  the  order  in  which  articulation  necessitates 
the  opening  of  the  vocal  passages  of  the  mouth  more  and 
more  from  tlie  lips  backward,  or  else  more  and  more 
from  the  back  of  the  mouth  forward; — more  and  more, 
that  is,  as  in  the  series  of  vowels  in  the  words  meet,  met, 
it ,  ate,  at,  care,  luit ,  late,  are,  got ,  anght ,  out ,  foot,  Inte, 
l/oot,  luiteher,  oo.'.e ;  or  as  in  the  series  of  consonants  re- 
presented by  b,  (J)!,  m,  n,  w,  v,  (fi,  tl,  (t),  Lh,  /.,  1,  r,  j, 
(chj,  g,  (ki  h ;  or  else  as  in  series  of  x'owels  or  conso- 
nants the  reverse  of  these.  In  tlie  f'^llowing  lines  the 
gradatio)!    of    vowels   on   the   emphatic   syllables    is    from 


314  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

what  we  may  term,  as  thus  explained,  the  front  tones  to 
the  back  tones : 

Here  where  never  came,  alive,  another. 

By  tlw  A'orth  Scu:   Swin/ntr  i 

"T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

I/i  ^iLDioriain :    Toiv.yso)!. 

Abruptness  in  music  or  poetry  results,  of  course, 
wherever  there  are  sudden  interruptions  and  changes  in 
either  theme  or  form,  and  of  these  in  either  time,  force, 
pitch,  or  quality,  and  in  either  rhythm,  melody,  or 
harmony,  c.  g. : 

I  marched  tn  the  villa,  and  my  men  with  me 
That  evening,  and  we  reach  the  door  and  stand, 
I  say — no  it  shoots  through  me  lightning-like 
While  I  pause,  breathe,  my  hand  ujion  the  latch. 

T/ic  Ritig  and  the  Book:  Brozi'niiig. 

Transition  in  music  is  a  passage  from  one  key  to  an- 
other. It  sometimes  necessitates  using  a  series  of  chords 
in  which  there  are  effects  like  those  of  iiitcrchcvigc,  as 
explained  on  page  311  ;  and  it  ahva\-s  necessitates  some 
application  of  the  principle  of  gradation.  But  besides 
this  it  necessitates  using  certain  chords  in  the  new  key, 
and  these,  too,  in  a  certain  order.  The  reason  of  this  is 
that  the  ear  has  become  so  accustomed  to  the  order  of 
the  notes  in  the  musical  scale  and  of  the  chords  that  har- 
monise them,  that  it  is  only  when  it  hears  these  latter  in 
succession  that  it  can  recognise  in  what  key  the  music  is 
or,  if  there  have  been  a  transition,  to  what  key  this  has 
been  made.  In  the  music  on  page  364,  illustrating  the 
common  method  of  making  transitions  from  the  major 
key  of  C  natural  to  all  the  other  k'eys.  it  will  be  noticed 
that  every  chord   in   the  transition  carries  out  the  princi- 


GRADATION.  315 

pie  of  putting  like  with  like  by  containing  at  least  one 
note  which  is  the  same  as  one  in  the  preceding  chord. 
Every  chord,  too,  immediately  preceding  that  of  the 
key-note  of  the  new  key  contains  either  the  re  which, 
m  singing  down  the  sc;ile,  or  the  si  which,  in  singing 
up  the  scale,  naturally  comes  immediately  before  the  do, 
i.  e.,  before  the  key-note.      See  page  363. 

There  is  no  need  here  of  emphasising  the  importance 
of  progress  either  in  music  or  in  poetry.  We  pass  on  to 
consider  gradation,  abniptiwss,  transition,  and  progress  as 
manifested  in  the  art  of  sight.  First,  as  exemplified  in 
tlie  use  of  colour.  Owing  to  the  operation  in  outline, 
distance,  and  texture,  of  light  and  siiade  and  ot  variety, 
there  is  hardly  a  square  inch  in  the  field  of  vision  in 
which  the  colours  appear  to  be  absolutely  the  same.  To 
cjuote  from  Rood's  "Modern  Chromatics  "  :  "One  of 
the  most  important  characteristics  of  colour  in  nature  is 
the  endless,  almost  infinite,  gradations  which  always 
accompany  it.  If  a  painter  re|)resent  a  sheet  of  paper  in 
a  picture  by  a  uniform  white  or  gray  patch,  it  will  seem 
(juite  wrong,  and  cannot  be  made  to  look  right  till  it  is 
covered  by  delicate  gradations  of  liglit  and  shade  and 
C(jlour.  Ruskin,  speaking  of  gradation  of  colour,  says: 
'  It  does  not  matter  how  small  the  touch  of  colour  m;iy  be, 
though  not  larger  than  the  smallest  pin's  head,  if  one 
part  of  it  is  not  darker  th;m  the  rest,  it  is  a  bad  touch.' 
Notwithstanding  the  const;i.nt  a[)plication  in  art  of  the 
priiicii)le  ni gra/iation,  there  are  occasional  places  in  wliich 
one  Colour  needs  to  be  sharp!}'  contrasted  w\{\\  another, 
and  this  necessitates  the  effect  termed  abrupt >icss.  Ab- 
ruptinss  is  alwax's  present,  for  inst;mce,  when  an  object 
in  bright  light  is  placed,  as  is  frequent)}'  tlie  case,  against 
its  own  shadow.      (See  h'ig.  2,   i)age  3.)     In  Rembrandt's 


3l6  THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  .-ESTHETICS. 

"Woman  Accused  by  the  Pharisees,"  the  woman  accused 
is  robed  in  white  and  in  the  centre  of  the  chief  h'l^ht. 
Her  accuser  stands  at  her  side  clothed  in  bhick.  Of 
course,  we  have  here,  necessarily,  the  greatest  possible 
contrast  and  abrupt)iLSS.  But  evidently  this  does  not 
interfere  either  with  the  most  exact  fulfilment  of  the 
principles  of  couiplciiicnt  and  consonance  or  with  the  most 
delicate  kind  oi gradation  used  as  a  principal  and  general 
method. 

Gradation  is  manifested  also  in  the  use  of  lines,  as,  for 
instance,  in  series  of  curves  and  angles,  the  different 
sides  of  which  in  regular  degrees  make  a  transition  from 
exact  parallelism.  In  his  cartoon  depicting  "The  Death 
of  Ananias"  (Fig. 37,  page  233),  Raphael  causes  the  terror 
of  the  principal  figure  to  be  manifested  in  similar  atti- 
tudes of  the  figures  on  both  sides,  but  as  they  gradually 
recede  into  the  background,  their  expressions  and  atti- 
tudes become  less  and  less  indicative  of  the  feeling  at  the 
centre  of  interest.  In  fulfilment  of  the  same  method, 
both  in  painting  and  in  sculpture,  the  hundreds  of  curves 
that  together  constitute  the  contour  (jf  the  human  body 
are  made  to  pass  into  one  another,  causing  its  members 
gradually  to  expand  or  taper.  Yet  there  are  places,  as 
at  the  heel,  where  the  transitions  are  very  abrupt.  The 
number  of  these  is  often  increased  with  great  effect  by 
the  introduction,  in  connection  with  both  living  figures 
and  of  foliage,  of  scarfs,  bands,  girdles,  and  folds  in  the 
drapery,  or  of  rectangular  lines  of  architecture  which  in 
pillars,  entablatures,  niches,  and  pedestals  sun'ound  <ix 
support  the  figures.      (See  I^'ig.  22,  page  i^^J. ) 

Both  these  methods  have  a  place,  too,  in  architecture. 
All  must  have  noticed  that  perpendicular  lines  when  car- 
ried  into  the  air,  as  in  the  case  of  tvvo  sides  of  a  sc^uare 


GRA DA  TION  IN  AR CHI TECTURE.  3  I  / 

tower,  seem  to  approach  each  other;  also  that  when  two 
sides  of  a  roof  actually  touch,  they  support  each  other 
Evidently,  artists  are  only  carrying  out  hints  from  these 
facts  when  they  widen  the  sides  of  a  tower's  base  and  make 
them  narrower  at  the  top,  thus  increasing  its  apparent 
height;  or  when  they  cause  the  sides  actually  to  meet  in 
the  spire  or  steep  gable  at  its  top,  thus  increasing  also 
the  ease  of  construction.  Many  great  buildings,  like  the 
cathedrals  and  palaces  of  Europe,  are  designed  according 
to  the  first  of  these  methods.  The  basements  are  made 
visibh'  broader  than  the  superstructures,  and  the  lines  of 
enclosure,  as  they  are  carried  up  at  both  sides,  are  gradu- 
ally brought  nearer  together.  See  Cologne  Cathedral, 
Eig.  33,  page  226.  The  method  of  gradation  is  illustrated 
also  in  those  cases  so  frequent  in  Gothic  architecture  (see 
again  Fig.  33),  in  which  over  the  same  opening  a  round 
arch  is  used  immediately  below  a  pointed  arch ;  also  in 
some  great  buildings  in  which  the  arches  over  the  open- 
ings of  the  first  story  arc  nearly  horizontal,  those  of  the 
second  or  third  more  rounded,  and  those  of  the  upper 
story  pointed. 

Turning  now  to  progress,  it  is  comparatively  easy  to 
understand  how  this  may  be  secured  in  poetry  and 
music,  the  forms  of  which  consist  of  words  and  sounds 
necessitating  movement.  But  in  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture  there  is  no  literal  movement.  Nevertheless, 
in  these  progress  may  be  suggested.  That  wliich  is 
re[)resented  in  Ra[)haers  "  Death  of  Anania;;"  (I^'ig.  37, 
page  233J  could  take  place  at  one  moment  of  time.  Yet 
at  this  mtjment  the  idea,  forciblx'  impressing  those  near- 
est the  principal  figure,  has  not  taken  possessi(jn  of  those 
remote  from  him.  The  p-icture  represents,  therefore, 
different    stages    of  progress   in   the   development   (jf  the 


315  THE  ESSENTIALS   OF  yESTIIETICS. 

idea,  or  of  the  influence  exerted  by  it;  and  it  is  almost 
inii)ossible  to  conceive  of  any  painting  or  statue,  however 
small,  in  which  \.\\^  progress  of  the  idea  in  its  advance  to 
take  possession  of  the  whole  bt)d\-  of  the  subject  or  sub- 
jects might  not  be  represented  in  an  analogous  way. 

Nor  is  it  less  oossible  to  represent  the  effects  o[ pro- 
o;rcss  in  buildings.  In  many  of  the  Rnglish  cathedrals 
the  whole  development  of  Gothic  architecture  from  the 
Norman,  through  the  pointed,  decorated,  and  perpendic- 
ular, can  be  traced  literally  in  the  different  forms  used  in 
different  parts.  But  progress  in  such  a  literal  sense  is  not 
consistent  with  unify.  When,  according  to  the  method 
o{  griwlatioii  described  a  moment  ago,  one  form  of  arch 
is  used  above  the  lower  openings,  and  another  sharper 
development  of  the  same  over  higher  openings,  and  an- 
other still  sharper  over  the  highest,  we  have  a  represen- 
tation of  progress  of  a  more  desirable  kind.  So,  too,  we 
have  the  same  in  the  interior  of  a  cathedral,  when  the 
arches  above  seem  to  grow  like  limbs  of  trees  out  of 
the  shafts  below  them,  and  when  the  chancel  beyond  the 
nave,  to  which  so  many  lin^s  of  the  walls  and  ceiling- 
point,  seems,  with  its  finer  elaboration  of  the  resources 
of  outline  and  its  grander  wealth  of  colour  in  window  and 
altar,  to  burst  upon  the  vision  like  a  flower,  for  which 
all  the  rest  has  furnished  only  a  splendid  prej^aration  for 
unfoldment.  In  these  and  other  ways,  there  arc  build- 
ings so  constructed  that  they  seem  to  be  almost  as  much 
the  results  oi  grcK^'th  and,  in  this  sense,  oi  progress  as  do 
products  of  nature  with  which  we  are  accustomed  to  asso- 
ciate the  two. 

At  the  oj)ening  of  Chapter  NI\'. ,  it  was  shown  that 
tiic  first  efforts  of  the  mind  in  the  direction  of  art-compo- 
sition   are    made   for  the  purpose  of  securing    eiTccts   of 


UNITY  AND   PROGRESS.  319 

unity,  in  order  to  accommodate  the  result  to  the  require- 
ments of  human  conception.  It  was  shown  also  that  the 
occasion  for  these  efforts  arises  from  the  variety  every- 
where characterising  the  natural  forms  of  which  the  artist 
is  obliged  to  construct  his  products.  Everytliing  that 
has  been  unfolded  since  this  was  said,  has  had  to  do  with 
methods  of  arrangement  through  which  factors  of  a  form, 
while  exhibiting  varictv,  can,  nevertheless,  be  made  to 
exhibit  unity.  lUit  in  none  of  these  methods  has  there 
been  necessitated  such  an  absolute  blending  of  the  ap- 
pearances of  the  tv/o  as  \\\ progress.  In  this  the  variety 
which  in  most  of  the  arrangements  is  accepted  as  a  neces- 
sary and  accidental  evil  becomes  essential.  There  can 
be  no  progress  except  of  something  that  is  clearly  recog- 
nised to  be  a  unity.  WvxX.  it  is  equally  true  that  there  can 
be  none  except  as  that  which  is  a  unity  is  perceived  to 
be  characterised  by  -eariety  vA^o.  \\\  progress,  therefore, 
all  the  methods  of  art-composition  that  we  have  been 
considering  seem  to  culminate.  Before  leaving  this  sub- 
ject it  would  be  well  for  the  reader  to  recall  what  was 
said  on  page  33  with  reference  to  the  relation  between 
art-composition  as  explained  in  Chapters  XIV.  and  XV. 
and  the  requirements  of  beauty  as  discussed  in  Chapter 
II.  An  examination  of  the  Ap[)endix,  too,  page  387,  will 
reveal  that  all  these  methods  of  coinposition  fulhl  exactly 
the  underlying  condition  of  assijiiilation  which  the  great 
majority  of  jjhvsiological  ps\'chologists  deem  requisite  tr 
the  effects  of  beauty. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

RIIVTIIM    AM)    I'ROI'OK'riOX, 

Rliytlim  not  Originated  by  Art — It  ]-',xisls  in  Nature — In  Xerve  Action^ 
Keiiuired  liy  the  Natural  Action  of  tlie  Miml — Elements  of  Rhyilini 
]''xisting  in  Speech — How  I)eveloi)e(l  in  Metre  and  \'erse — In  Music 
— Poetic  Measures — Cieneral  Comment — Meaning  of  ]'ro[iortion — Re- 
sult of  a  Natural  Tendency  to  Make  Like  Measurements — Manifested 
Ever\'\vhere — Proportion  in  Nature — An  Important  Art-Principle — 
Result  of  Comimring  Measurements  not  Actually  Made,  hut  Possible 
to  Make — Not  Actually  Alike,  hut  Api)arently  so — Proportion  Puts 
Like  Measurements  with  Like — Fultilling  I'rinci[)les  in  Chapters  XIV 
and  X\'. — Why  Proportional  Ratios  must  he  Represented  hv  Small 
Numbers — How  Larger  Numbers  may  be  I'sed — Rectilinear  Projior- 
tions — Of  Allied  Rectangles — Of  Irregular  Complex  I'igures — Must  Ije 
Acc(Mnpanied  by  Outlines  of  Simple  and  Regular  higures — Prii])or- 
tions  of  Human  Form  and  Clothing — Countenance — (ireek  r}pe  of 
Face  nut  the  only  lieautiful  One — Why  ( )ther  Txpes  ma\-  Seeni 
Deautiful — Proportions  of  Human  Pody  Indicated  by  Circles  and 
I'dlipses — ISincjcular  A'ision — Its  Relation  to  hdlipses — \\'hy  the  ('urve 
Is  the  Line  of  P)eauty — Shapes  of  \'ases — Relati'Hi  of  Like  Cur\es  ti) 
Projjortion  Illustrated  in  Curves  of  the   Human    Form — C(jnclusJon. 

A  ceo R DING  to  the  chart  on  page  277,  the  methods  of 
art-composition  indicated  in  it  result,  as  applied  to 
duration,  in  rliytliui;  asappHed  to  extension,  \w proportion ; 
and,  as  appHed  to  quaHty  and  pitch,  whether  of  note  or 
colour,  in  hannoiiy.  Of  these,  let  us  consider,  first, 
r/iythin.  Art  did  not  originate  this,  nor  the  satisfaction  de- 
ri\'able  from  it.  Long  before  the  times  of  the  first  artists, 
men  had  had  practical  experience  of  its  pleasures-    Long 


RHYTHM.  321 

before  the  age  of  poetry,  or  music,  or  dancing,  or  even  of 
fences  or  schoolboys,  the  primitive  man  had  sat  upon  a 
log  and  kicked  with  his  heels,  producing  a  rhythm  as 
perfect,  in  its  way,  as  that  of  his  representatives  of  the 
present  who  in  Africa  take  delight  in  stamping  their  feet 
and  clapping  their  hands,  and  in  America  in  playing  upon 
drums  and  tambourines,  in  order  to  keep  time  to  the 
movements  of  dancers  and  the  tunes  of  singers. 

When  we  come  to  ask  why  rhythm  should  be  produced 
thus,  either  by  itself  or  in  connection  with  poetry  or 
music — in  short,  why  it  should  be,  as  seems  to  be  the  case, 
a  natural  mode  of  expression,  we  cannot  avoid  having  it 
suggested,  at  once,  that  it  corresponds  to  a  method  char- 
acterising all  natural  movement  whatever,  whether  appeal- 
ing to  the  eye  or  ear,  or  whether  produced  by  a  human 
being  or  perceived  in  external  nature.  There  is  rhythm 
in  the  beating  of  our  pulses,  in  the  alternate  lifting  and 
falling  of  our  chests  while  breathing,  in  our  accenting 
and  leaving  unaccented  the  syllables  of  our  speech,  in  our 
pausing  for  breath  between  consecutive  phrases,  and  in 
our  balancing  from  side  to  side  and  pushing  forward  one 
leg  or  one  arm  and  then  another,  while  walking.  There 
is  rhythm  in  the  manifestations  of  all  the  life  about  us, 
in  the  flapping  of  the  wings  of  the  bird,  in  the  changing 
phases  of  its  song,  even  in  the  minutest  trills  that  make 
up  its  melody,  and  in  the  throbbings  of  its  throat  to  utter 
them  ;  in  the  rising  and  falling  of  the  sounds  of  the  wind, 
and  of  the  s\va}-ing  to  and  fro  of  the  trees,  as  well  as  in 
the  flow  and  ebb  of  the  surf  on  the  seashore,  and  in  the 
jarring  of  the  thunder  and  the  zigzag  course  of  the  light- 
ning. In  fact,  rhythm  seems  to  be  almost  as  intimately 
associated  with  everything  that  a  man  can  see  or  hear,  as 
is  the  beating  of  his  own  heart  with  his  own  life.      I'.ven 


322  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ANESTHETICS. 

the  stars,  like  the  rockets  that  we  send  toward  them, 
speed  onward  in  paths  that  return  upon  themselves,  and 
the  phrase  "music  of  the  spheres"  is  a  logical  as  well  as 
a  poetical  result  of  an  endeavour  to  classify  the  grandest 
of  all  movements  in  accordance  with  a  method  which  is 
conceived  to  be  universal.  No  wonder,  then,  that  men 
should  feel  the  use  of  rhythm  to  be  appropriate  in  art- 
products  modelled  upon  natural  products.  No  wonder 
that,  connected  as  it  is  with  natural  movement  and  life 
and  the  enjoyment  inseparably  associated  with  life,  it 
should  seem  to  the  civilised  to  be — what  certainly  it  seems 
to  the  uncivilised — an  artistic  end  in  itself. 

Nor  is  this  view  of  it  suggested  as  a  result  merely  of 
superficial  observation.  It  is  substantiated  by  the  more 
searching  experiments  of  the  scientists.  There  have  been 
discovered,  for  instai'ice,  in  addition  to  the  regular  beat 
of  the  heart,  and  independent  of  it,  rhythmical  contrac- 
tions and  expansions  of  the  walls  of  the  arteries,  increas- 
ing and  decreasing  at  regular  intervals  the  suppl\'  of 
blood.  Such  processes,  which,  according  to  Foster  in 
his  "Physiology,"  page  307,  may  be  observed  in  the 
arteries  of  a  frog's  foot  or  a  rabbit's  ear,  may  be  checked 
by  cutting  the  nerves  connecting  it  and  the  vaso-motor 
system  ;  and  this  fact  is  tal^cn  to  iiidicate  that  there  is  a 
rhythmic  form  of  activit}'  in  the  nerve-centres  themselves. 
Regular  periodic  contractions  have  been  observed,  too, 
in  the  hearts  of  certain  animals  after  being  removed  from 
the  body  ;  and  this  fact  has  been  attributed  to  the  pres- 
ence in  them  of  nerve-ganglia,  acting  according  to  some 
characteristic  method.  Movements  of  the  same  kind 
are  mentioned,  also,  by  Isaac  Ott  in  his  "Observations 
upon,  the  Ph)-siology  of  the  Spinal  Cord,"  in  "Studies 
from   the   Hiological  Laboratory  of  Johns  Hopkins  Uni- 


RHYTHM  IN   THE   NERVES.  323 

versity,"  No.  II.,  as  taking  place  in  certain  parts  of  the 
bodies  of  dogs,  cats,  and  rabbits  after  the  severing  of  the 
spinal   cord. 

Such  facts  with  reference  to  the  rhythmic  character  of 
nerve-action  seem  to  indicate  a  possibility  of  the  same  in 
mental  action.  Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  Dr.  Thad- 
deus  L.  l^olton,  Demonstrator  and  Fellow  in  Clark  Uni- 
versity, conducted,  a  few  years  ago,  a  series  of  interesting 
experiments,  which  are  described  by  him  in  a  thesis  on 
"  Rh)'thm,"  published  in  the.  American  Journal  of  Psycliol- 
ogy,  vol.  vi..  No.  2.  "The  first  an.d  most  important 
object  "  of  these  experiments  is  said  to  have  been  to 
determine  "what  the  mind  did  with  a  series  of  simple 
auditory  impressions,  in  which  there  was  absolutely  no 
change  of  intensity,  pitch,  cjuality,  or  time-interval." 
As  a  result  it  was  found  that,  out  cf  fifty  who  were  asked 
to  listen  to  clicks  produced  by  an  instrument  prepared 
for  the  purpose,  two  alone  failed  to  divide  these  clicks 
into  groups,  the  nunaber  in  each  group  being  determined, 
mainly,  by  the  relative  rapidity  with  which  the  clicks 
were  produced.  The  groups  were  usually  of  twos  or 
threes,  though,  with  greater  rapidity,  they  passed  into 
groups  of  fours,  sixes,  and  eights,  always,  liowever,  when 
the  mem.bers  were  many,  with  a  tendency  to  divide  into 
twos,  threes,  and  fours.  It  was  found,  moreover,  that, 
whenever  a  second,  third,  or  fourth  click  was  made  louder 
than  the  others,  the  inclination  to  di\'ide  the  clicks  into 
corresponding  groups  of  twos,  threes,  or  fours  was  in- 
creased. 

With  such  facts  in  mind,  let  us  recall  that  si)eech,  from 
which  we  ha\-e  found  both  music  and  poetry  to  be  de\'el- 
opcd,  is  composed  of  syllables,  eacli  uttered  witli  an  in- 
dividual   stress  which    separates    it  frotri    other    s}-ll,ibles. 


3  24  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^-ISTHETICS. 

l^esides  this,  every  second,  third,  or  fourth  syllable  is  in- 
variably accented.  The  reason  for  the  accent  is  physio- 
logical. The  v^ocalised  breath  flows  through  the  throat 
— as  water  through  the  neck  of  a  bottle — with  what 
may  be  termed  alternate  active  and  passive  movements. 
The  former  of  these  movements  is  that  which  produces 
the  accent.  In  our  language  all  words  of  more  than  one 
syllable  have  come  to  have  an  accent  that  is  fixed.  This 
fact  enables  one  to  arrange  any  number  of  words  so  that 
the  fixed  accents  shall  fall,  as  natural  utterance  demands 
that  it  should,  on  every  second,  third,  fourth,  or  fifth 
syllable.  But  speech  has  another  characteristic.  Besides 
being  separated  into  small  groups  by  the  accents,  the 
syllables  and  the  words  which  they  contain  arc  separated 
into  larger  groups  by  the  necessity  experienced  of  paus- 
ing at  certain  intervals  in  order  to  draw  in  the  breath. 
Nature,  therefore,  furnishes  speech  with  two  characteris- 
tics,— accents  after  every  two,  three,  four,  or  five  sylla- 
bles, and  pauses  after  every  few  words. 

Now,  suppose  that  we  apply  to  these  accents  and 
pauses  the  methods  of  art-composition  that  were  ex- 
plained in  Chapters  XIV.  and  XV.  ;  in  other  words,  the 
methods  tending  to  produce  effects  of  unity  by  group- 
ing like  with  like, — what  will  be  the  result  ?  What  but 
metre  and  versification  which  are  the  two  constituents 
of  rhythm?  The  accents,  together  with  the  syllables 
grouped  with  them,  give  rise  to  what  in  music  arc  termed 
measures  or  bars,  and  in  poetry  to  what  are  termed  meas- 
ures ox  feet ,  and  the  pauses  for  breath  give  rise  to  musical 
plirases,  or  poetic  Hues  of  verse.  The  essential  character- 
istic of  bars  or  feet  is  that  they  arc  measures  and  that 
what  they  measure  is  time.  Vox  tliis  reason,  if  the  ac- 
cents about  which  notes  or  syllables  are  grouped  occur  at 


MUSICAL   RHYTHM. 


325 


exactly  regular  intervals  of  time,  it  is  immaterial  whether 
the  measure  contain  one  note  or  syllable  or  many.  This 
is  true  even  in  poetry,  though  the  fact  is  frequently  over- 
looked.     Notice  both  music  and  words  in  the   following: 


r  r 

:  :  r 

r 

s 

•  r 

The  world 

ni.iy    go  round,    |  Tlie  world 

may  stand  still,    | 

r  r  1  r  r    r  c  f 

But      I         1   can    milk          and     mar  -  ry, 

I  r 

I  r 

Fill 

pa.l, 

IT 

r  r 

r  c  r 

I 

can     mil 

k 

and     mar  -  ry. 

The  Milkmaid's  Song:   Sidney  Dobell. 

Also  that  each  syllable  in  the  first  line  of  the  following 
fills  an  entire  measure: 

lireak,  break,  l)i-cak. 

Oil  lliy  ci'ild  gray  st<')nes,  oh  sea. 

Ami  I  \\<')ul(l,  that  my  tcnigue  could  utter 

The  thi'jughts  that  arise  iii  me. 

Breetk,  Break,  Break:     Tennyson. 

This  principle  is  invariably  exemplified  in  music.  No- 
tice how  miany  more  notes  are  in  the  third  than  in  the 
first  measure  of  the  following  : 


^ 

^-     m-^-z 

rl'^J^.z^^OJJ  il^l^l^l 

^  ^  = 


3     2     3 

H    -i    -i 


^    3    H    3 
1     -i     -1     T 


Here,    taken    from    W.     S.    W.    Mathew's   "Primer   of 


326 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  .ESTHETICS. 


Musical    r^orms,"  are   representations   of    the    more    im- 
portant types  of  musical  rhythm: 

Po.Ka      i    J     J     J     J   I   J     J     J^     J  I 
Ma...      i    J      XSJ      Jlj      JSJ      J 


Waltz  :  (Slow  J 

(Q.icio  i  J  J  J  I  J  J  J  I 

(Moderate)     I    J^     Jj  J^  I  J     J     J    I 

Oalop       i    J      J    I    J      J  I    J      J    I    J      J    I 

Boh'ro      i    J      J      J    I  J.    J     J     J    I 


JJ     JJJ    I    J. 


AIko  fiiiiiK  tiinis  tlie  i^anie  aw  tlic  Polonaise  t,'i\(ii  above. 


J  /J  ii-mm 


In  poetry,  largely  because  this  art  is  unable  to  make  as 
much  as  music  can  out  of  the  effects  of  pitch  and  quality, 
it  is  not  customary  to  vary  greatly  the  number  of  sylla- 
bles in  successive  measures.  Often,  in  long  poems,  these 
remain  exactly  the  same  from  the  first  line  to  the  last. 
The  ordinary  poetic  measures  are  as  follows: 

Initial  or  initial  double  measure  is  accented  on  the  first 
syllaDle,  and  corresponds,  if  composed  of  one  long  sylla- 


MEASURES  AND    VERSES.  327 

ble  followed  by  one  short,  to  the  Greek  trochee  or  choree  ; 
if  of  two  long,  to  the  Greek  spondee. 

When  the  |  hours  of  |  ilay  are  |  iuimbere<l. 

Terminal  or  terminal  double  measure  is  accented  on  the 
second  syllable,  and  corresponds,  if  composed  of  one 
short  followed  by  one  long  syllable,  to  the  Greek  iambus. 

Among  I  thy  fan  |  cies,  tell  |  nie  this. 

Initial  triple  measure,  if  composed  of  one  long  followed 
by  two  short  syllables,  is  the  same  as  the  Greek  dactyl. 

Out  of  the  I  cities  ami  |  into  the  |  villages. 

^ledian  or  median  triple  measure,  /.  e.,  triple  measure 
with  the  accent  on  the  middle  syllable,  if  composed  of 
one  short,  one  long,  and  one  short  syllable,  is  the  same 
as  the  Greek  amphibrach. 

There  came  to  ]  the  sliore  a  |  poor  exile  |  of  I']rin. 

Terminal  triple  measure,  if  composed  of  two  sliort  sylla- 
bles followed  by  a  long  one,  is  the  same  as  the  Greek 
anap;est. 

If  our  lan^l  |  lurd  supply  |  us  with  beef  |  ami  with  fi>li. 

CompountJ  or  com[)ound  triple  measure  is  accented  on 
the  first  and  third  syllables,  and,  if  composed  of  one 
long,  one  sliort,  and  one  long  syllable,  is  the  same  as  the 
Greek  ami)hiiiiacrus. 

Nearer  niv  [   (  i('jd  to  thee  |  ]'>'en  iho'  il  |  lie  a  cros-.. 

Initial  ([uadriiple  measure  is  a  (lu[)licated  form  of  initi.al 
double  measure,  and  is  usually  the  .same  as  the  (ireek 
ditrfjchee,  c.  ^i,''.  : 

Ko^e,  ari-  in   I   liio^s'jni  am'   tin-  |   rills  ant  fiMcl   wit!i   |   \\  aler-cresses. 

Terminal    (juadruplc    measure    is    a    duplicated    form    of 


328  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

terminal  double  measure,  and  is  usually  the  same  as  the 
Greek  diiambus,  c.  g.  : 

The  k\ng  has  come  |  to  marshal  us. 

To  indicate  the  number  of  the  measures  placed  in  a  sin- 
gle line,  the  Greeks  used  the  terms  iiioiioinctcr,  meaning 
a  line  containing  one  measure,  and  dimeter,  trimctir, 
tctrauictcr,  poitanictcr,  Jicxamctcr,  meaning,  respectively, 
a  line  of  two,  three,  four,  five,  and  six  measures. 

It  is  not  important  in  this  place  to  consider  the  repre- 
sentative effects  either  of  these  different  measures,  or  of 
different  musical  phrases  or  poetic  lines.  These  subjects 
have  been  treated  at  length  in  the  author's  "Poetry  as  a 
Representative  Art,"  and  '*Rh}'thm  and  Harmony  in 
Poetry  and  Music."  In  closing,  however,  it  may  be  of 
interest  to  observe  the  close  resemblance  between  the 
impression  conveyed  by  the  movements  of  musical  meas- 
ures when  connected  with  phrases  and  of  poetic  measures 
when  connected  with  lines.  The  following  from  Weber's 
"Theory  of  Musical  Education"  may  represent  the  general 
effect  of  the  former  of  these  no  more  clearly  than  of  the 
latter: 


i  r  err  o'irr  r  T  ct  "t  v-t  gt  crirrr^irGTrir- 

We  now  turn  \o  proportion.  When  we  say  that  a  house 
has  the  proportions  of  a  palace,  or  a  growing  boy  the 
proportions  of  a  man,  we  may  mean  merely  that  the  one 
is  as  large  as  the  other,  or  has  the  same  general  measure- 
ments. In  addition  to  this,  however,  there  is  generally 
connected  with  the  term,  when  carefully  used,  a  concep- 
tion  of   a    comparison    of   measurements.     A   part    of   a 


PROPORTION.  329 

product  is  said  to  be  "in  proportion"  because  of  the  re- 
lationship which  its  measurements  sustain  to  the  meas- 
urements of  other  parts  or  of  the  whole.  This  seems  to 
be  the  meaning  when  we  speak  of  the  proportions  of  the 
human  figure,  irrespective  of  any  references  to  attempts 
to  copy  any  particular  model;  and  it  certainly  is  the 
meaning  when  we  speak  of  the  proportions  of  a  building 
in  a  style  such  as  has  never  before  had  existence.  As  an 
effect  produced  thus  by  measurements,  it  is  evident  that 
proportion  bears  a  relationship  to  the  arts  of  sight  similar 
to  that  borne  by  rhythm  to  the  arts  of  sound.  Just  as, 
in  rhythm,  pauses  separate  syllables  or  notes,  and,  aided 
by  the  absence  or  presence  of  force  in  the  accents,  divide 
the  whole  duration  of  a  scries  of  sounds  into  like  parts  or 
multiple  of  parts;  so,  in  proportion,  it  is  possible  for  lines 
to  separate  objects  of  sight,  and,  aided  by  light  and  shade 
revealing  their  shapes,  to  divide  the  whole  extent  of  space 
covered  by  a  series  of  forms  into  like  parts  or  multiples 
of  parts. 

But  if  it  be  possible  to  divide  spaces  thus,  is  it  prob- 
able that  any  or  many  will  care  to  do  this?  The  moment 
that  the  cjuestion  is  asked,  it  will  be  found  to  admit  of 
but  one  answer.  Such  a  method  of  measuring  spaces  is 
not  only  probable,  but  inevitable.  Apparently  the  mind 
in  arranging  different  objects  of  sight,  or  in  judging  of 
their  effects  as  it  finds  them  arranged,  cannot  avoid  mak- 
ing these  measurements.  None  of  us  can  look  at  window- 
panes,  doors,  or  fac^ades  of  buiUlings,  without  comparing 
the  lengths  aiid  breadtlis  of  each.  It  is  true  that  we  do 
not  always  compare  them  conscic^usl)-.  I)ut  if  one  di- 
mensi(;n  be  greater  than  another,  we  usually  perceive  the 
fact,  and  ff;rm  an  (jstimate  as  t(j  how  nuicli  greater  it  is. 
After  a  most  limited  glance  at  a  l)uil(ling,  we  describe  it  to 


;3o 


THE   ESSEiVTIALS   OF  ESTHETICS. 


Others  by  saying  that  it  is  twice  or  three  times,  as  the  case 
may  be,  as  long  as  it  is  high.  Or,  to  notice  the  tendency 
when  exemplified  in  action,  between  which  and  the  men- 
tal processes  necessitated  in  art  the  correspondence  is 
more  complete,  suppose  that  one  be  framing  an  engraving 
occup}'ing  the  centre  of  a  sheet,  about  which  centre  there 
must  be  a  margin  on  all  sides.  Even  if  he  have  never 
seen  a  picture  framed  before,  forty-nine  times  out  of 
fifty  he  will  place  the  engraving  so  that,  intervening  be- 
tween it  and  the  frame,  there  shall  seem  to  be,  to  his 
eyes,  an  equal  amount  of  space  on  every  side  of  it,  or,  at 
least,  on  opposite  sides  of  it.  Or.  if  the  picture  must  be 
hung  on  a  wall  between  two  doors,  he  will  hang  it  so 
that,  to  his  eyes,  there  shall  seem  to  be  an  equal  distance 
between  the  frame  and  each  door.  Even  children,  if 
building  houses  of  blocks,  will  select  blocks  of  similar 
size  to  be  put  in  corresponding  places  at  different  sides 
of  the  same  windows  and  porches. 

An  analogous  fact  is  true  universally,  and  always  has 
been  true.  There  is  no  primitive  kind  of  ornamentation, 
no  matter  how  barbarous  the  race  originating  it,  of  which 
one  characteristic,  perhaps  the  most  marked,  is  not  an 
exact  division  or  subdivision  of  sjDaces,  the  mind,  appar- 
ently, deriving  the  same  sort  of  satisfaction  from  rude 
lines  of  paint  and  scratchings  upon  stone,  made  at  pro- 
portionate distances  from  one  another,  that  it  does  from 
the  rhythmical  sounds  (^see  Fig.  Ai  drummed  with  feet, 

3  3  3  3  6 


hands,   or  sticks,  to  accompany  the  song  and   dance  of 
the  savage.      In   fact,   an  arrangement,   as  in  the  staves 


PROPORTION  IN-  NATURE. 


331 


and  bars  that  follow,  might  be  used  as  preparatory  either 
for  writing  music  or  for  decorating  with  colour—/,  c. ,  for 
the  purpose  of  representing  either  rhythm  or  proportion. 
(Sec  Fig.  B.) 


(B) 

It  is  not  because  it  is  convenient  but  because  it  is 
artistically  satisfactory,  that,  in  all  sorts  of  decorative 
^\•ork,  whether  upon  stone,  wood,  paper,  or  cloth, — from 
the  finishing  upon  the  ridge-pole  of  a  roof  to  the  lace  and 
fringe  upon  a  window  curtain,  and  the  patterns  upon 
carpets  and  wall-papers, — outlines  often  differently  sub- 
divided, but  nevertheless  alike  in  that  they  cover  like 
spaces,  are  put  together.  Nor  is  this  tendency  exhibited 
in  merely  those  departments  of  art  in  which  the  mind 
works  upon  foims  originated  almost  wholly  by  itself.  It 
is  found  also  id  forms  which,  with  more  or  less  literal- 
ness,  are  copied  from  nature.  Just  as  poetry  can  take 
words  and  phrases,  actually  heard  in  conversation,  ami 
rearrange  them  in  such  ways  as  to  fulfil  the  retiuirements 
of  rhythm,  so  painting  and  sculpture  can  take  outlines 
perceived  in  nature,  and  rearrange  them  in  such  ways 
as  to  fulfil  the  re([uircments  of  proportion.  Of  course, 
this  coiild  not  be  the  case  unless,  to  some  extent,  the 
re([uirements  of  proportion  were  fulfilled  in  nature. 
Now  notice  to  what  exteiit  the}-  are  fulfilled  in  nature. 
l-'irst  of  all,  the  .^k\-  and  earth  alwa\-s  divide  the  possible 
field  of  vision  into  two  approximately  C([ual  and  comple- 
mentar\-  parts.  When  the  painter  coin];')sing  his  picture 
according  to  the  law-^  of  per-])ect  i\-e  1 -:ee-  page  93.  also 
I'ig.  2,    page  3)  decides  iqxtn  tlie   places   for   his  horizon. 


333  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  .'ESTHETICS. 

his  vanishing  point,  and  liis  principal  figures,  and  upon 
the  distances  of  these  from  one  another,  and  from  the 
margins  on  either  side  of  his  composition,  as  well  as  upon 
the  sizes  and  shapes  of  his  trees,  houses,  men,  animals, 
considered  in  themselves  or  in  connection  with  other  ob- 
jects near  them  or  remote  from  them,  he  makes  his  deci- 
sions as  a  result  of  relative  measurements,  mental  or  actual. 
And  so  with  reference  to  the  different  members  and  the 
general  shape  of  the  human  form,  or  of  the  forms  of 
animals,  trees,  plants,  or  of  any  objects,  in  fact,  that 
are  transferred  from  nature  to  canvas  or  marble  by  way 
of  imitation;  it  is  as  a  result  of  a  certain  comparison  of 
measurements  between  part  and  part,  that  one  can  say 
that  certain  of  these  forms  are  or  arc  not  in  proportion. 
Take,  for  instance,  a  very  heavy  body,  either  of  flesh  or 
of  foliage,  supported  by  very  slight  limbs;  should  we  not 
say  at  once  that  the  two  were  out  of  proportion?  Even 
of  such  small  details  as  eyes,  ears,  hands,  and  nostrils 
we  should  make  a  similar  affirmation,  in  case  abnormal 
measurements  were  apparent.  And  though  the  relative 
sizes  of  these  differ  greatly  in  individual  instances,  they 
are  always  in  the  same  body  expected  to  be  so  related, 
each  to  each,  and  to  other  members,  as  to  show  an  effect 
that  can  be  recognised  onl\-  as  a  result  of  comparing 
measurements. 

At  first  thought,  the  action  of  the  mind  in  making 
these  comparisons  may  seem  to  be  of  little  importance, 
scarcely  worthy  of  the  serious  attention  which  evidently 
we  are  about  to  give  it.  ]kit,  in  this  life,  it  usually  takes 
very  little  to  start  that  which  may  develop  into  very 
much.  Rhythm,  too,  is  apparently  of  little  importance. 
If  one  knew  nothing  about  art,  what  could  appear  more 
absurd   than    for   an    intelligent    man    to   think    it  worth 


PROPORTION  IMPORTANT.  333 

while,  when  wishing  to  sa\'  something,  to  count  the  syl- 
lables that  he  utters,  so  that  they  shall  reveal  exact  divi- 
sions and  subdivisions  of  time,  such  as  the  savage  makes 
when  he  beats  his  hands  and  feet  for  dancers.  Yet  it  is 
out  of  this  simple  method  of  counting,  that  art  has 
developed  the  most  important  element  in  the  form  of 
poetry,  as  well  as  an  element  extremely  important  in  the 
form  of  music.  When  we  come  to  examine  the  different 
combinations  of  effects  attributable  to  rhythm,  we  find 
that  we  are  by  no  means  dealing  with  a  subject  as  simple 
as  at  first  appeared.  The  same  is  true  of  proportion. 
Before  deciding,  for  instance,  that  a  foot  or  a  column  is 
disproportionately  large  or  small,  it  must  be  compared 
not  only  with  other  feet  or  columns,  but  with  both  the 
sizes  and  shapes  of  all  the  surrounding  features  in  the 
man  or  building  in  which  it  appears.  Indeed,  the  num- 
ber and  variety  of  measurements  straight,  curved,  or 
angular,  that  any  extensive  knowledge  or  application  of 
proportion  involves,  are  almost  incalculable. 

Proportional  processes  may  be  rendered  most  intelli- 
gible, perhaps,  by  dwelling  for  a  little  upon  the  corre- 
spondence, already  many  times  suggested,  between 
proportion  and  rhythm.  Rhx'thm  has  been  shown  to 
result  from  the  mind's  endeavour,  in  the  sj^here  of  time 
or  duration,  to  arrange  the  features  of  forms  by  putting 
like  nieasurements  with  like.  I'>vidently,  it  is  the  same 
principle  that  is  illustrated  in  proportion.  Just  as  the 
mind,  when  listening  through  the  ear,  takes  satisfaction 
in  sounds  so  divided  and  subdivided  as  to  duration  that 
all  can  appear  to  be  parts  of  a  unify,  because  all  can  be 
measured  according  to  some  clearl\-  recognised  stantlard 
f>f  coDipanson;  so  the  same  mind,  looking  through  the 
eye,  takes  satisfaction   in  objects  of  sight  so  du'ided  and 


3  34  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  .JISTJ/ETICS. 

subdivided  as  to  extension,  /.  c,  as  to  size  or  shape,  that 
these  also  can  be  measured  and  compared.  It  is  import- 
ant to  observe,  however,  that  it  is  not  necessary  actually 
to  measure  them,  as  a  preliminary  step  to  recognising 
that  they  are  in  proportion.  In  other  words  it  is  not 
necessary  to  determine  what  the  ratio  between  them  is, 
but  merely  that  it  exists.  The  same  principle  applies 
here  as  in  rhythm.  To  experience  the  effects  of  this, 
we  do  not  need  to  decide  what  the  metre  is — whether  in- 
itial or  terminal,  iambic  or  trochaic — only  that  there  is  a 
metre.  But  while  this  is  true,  the  metre  must  be  capable 
of  being  analysed;  and  we  must  be  conscious  that  it  is 
so,  although,  perhaps,  we  ourselves  do  not  care  to  go 
through  with  the  analytic  process.  In  the  same  way, 
the  impression  which  the  mind  receives  of  proportion  is 
due  to  measurements  of  which,  if  it  choose,  it  may  be- 
come conscioKS  as  distinguished  from  those  of  ^\•hich,  as 
measurements,  it  must  forever  remain  unconscious.  This 
fact  is  noteworthy,  because,  so  far  as  it  can  be  recognised, 
it  enables  one  to  perceive  why  proportion  in  the  arts  of 
sight,  is  not,  as  has  been  almost  universally  supposed,  the 
analogue  of  harmony  in  the  arts  of  sound.  As  will  be 
shown  in  Chapter  X\'II.,  harmony  is  produced  in  these 
arts  whenever  the  number  of  vibrations /rr  ira;;/*^/ deter- 
mining the  pitch  of  one  tone  sustains  a  certain  ratio  to 
the  number  of  vibrations  per  second  dttermining  the 
pitch  of  another  tone,  l^ut  only  the  investigations  of 
science  have  been  able  to  discover  that  this  is  the  reason 
for  the  effect.  The  mind  Ccmnot  count  the  vibrations. 
It  is  not  conscious  of  them;  but  only  of  an  agreeable 
thrill  or  glow  in  case  they  coalesce,  as  they  do  when 
they  sustain  to  one  another  the  required  harmonic  ratio. 
Now  if  we  go  upon  the  sujiposition   that   the   measure- 


PROPORTION    VERSUS  HARMONY.  335 

ments  determining  the  effects  of  proportion  are  of  the 
same  nature  as  arc  those  determining  the  effects  of  har- 
mony, it  is  evident  that  we  must  suppose  ourselves 
deah'ng  with  factors  of  which  the  mind  is  unconscious; 
and  must  rem.ain  ignorant  until  science  has  come  into 
possession  of  certain  data  not  yet  discovered.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  those  accepting  this  supposition  who  have 
tried  to  explain  the  effects,  have  either  held  that  they 
cannot  be  explained  at  all,  or  have  made  attempts  at 
explanation  which  may  be  said  in  a  general  way  to  have 
failed  to  prove  convincing?  Is  it  any  wonder  that,  even 
when  acknowledging  that  the  Greeks  once  had  a  know- 
ledge of  the  subject,  very  many  in  our  own  times,  after 
seeking  for  this  knowledge  in  wrong  directions,  have 
conceived  of  the  subject  as  hidden  in  almost  impenetrable 
mystery, — as  involving  principles  which  it  is  wclinigh 
useless  for  present  artists  to  attempt  either  to  understand 
or  to  apply? 

It  is  important  to  notice,  too,  that  the  effects  of 
proportion,  as  interpreted  here,  must  be  ascribed  to 
measurements  that  are  apparent,  but  not  necessarily 
actual.  One  cannot  well  judge  of  the  relations  between 
the  measurements  of  the  parts  of  a  body,  or  between 
the  measurements  of  these  and  the  measurements  of  the 
whole,  except  so  far  as  he  looks  at  the  body  from  a  dis- 
tance where  all  the  j^arts  can  be  compared  together.  But, 
as  shown  on  page  102,  certain  measurements  need  to  be 
actually  different,  in  order,  when  seen  from  a  distance, 
to  seem  U)  be  alike.  I'^lTects  of  proporti;)n,  therefore, 
are  not  determined  by  actual  measurements,  but  by 
what  the  measurements  appear  to  be,  after  perspective 
and  the  methods  associated  with  it  have  made  them 
appear   as    they    do.      The    piinci])les    underlying    (ireek 


336  THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  AESTHETICS. 

proportion  cannot,  therefore,  be  ascertained  by  merely 
measuring  with  a  tape-line  the  different  members  of  a 
Greek  facade. 

Once  more,  inasmuch  as  proportion,  like  rhythm,  is 
based  upon  the  requirements  of  composition,  it  is  im- 
portant to  notice  that  fundamentally,  nieasurements  go 
together  because  they  appear  to  be  exactly  alike,  that  is, 
as  I  :  I  ;  and  that  the  mind  accepts  the  ratios  of  certain 
small  numbers  that  are  not  alike,  like  i  :  2  or  2  :  3,  be- 
cause it  is  able  to  recognise  in  the  first  that  which 
corresponds  to  i  :  i  -[-  i>  and  in  the  second  that  which 
corresponds  to  i  -|-  i  :  i  -[-  i  +  i-  h'inally,  connected 
with  this,  it  is  important  to  notice  that  as  rhythm  starts 
by  putting  together  similar  small  parts  such  as  feet  and 
lines,  and  produces  the  general  effect  of  the  whole  as  a 
result  of  the  combined  effects  of  these  parts,  so  does 
artistic  proportion.  For  instance,  the  height  of  the  front 
of  the  Parthenon  is  to  its  breadth  as  9  :  14.  But  we  need 
not  consider  the  architect  as  aiming  primarily  at  this 
proportion;  or  that  it  is  any  more  than  a  secondary, 
though,  of  course,  a  necessary  result  of  the  relations,  the 
one  to  the  other,  of  the  different  separate  measurements 
jDut  together  in  order  to  form  the  whole.  If  we  lose 
sight  of  this  fact,  we  may  never  be  able  to  the  end  of 
time  to  explain  why  the  Greeks  used  such  proportions, 
in  their  columns,  as  5  :8i,  or,  in  their  facades,  as  9:  14. 

In  view  of  what  has  been  said  in  previous  chapters  of 
this  book,  it  is  easy  for  us  to  recognise  why  the  ratio  of 
I  :  I  should  be  characteristic  of  the  measurements  of  the 
nKijority,  perhaips,  of  art-products  in  the  realm  of  sight. 
Everything  that  was  said  of  the  repetition  of  like  forms 
on  pages  270  to  275  applies  ecjually  to  like  measurements. 
Whether  we  compare  with   one  another  like  features,  as 


PROPORTF  ON   RENDERED    RECOGMISABLE.         337 

in  columns,  flutings,  windows,  mouldings,  eyes,  arms, 
legs;  or  unlike  features,  as  in  capitals,  friezes,  architraves, 
metophs,  triglyphs,  foreheads,  noses,  ears,  chins,  we  find 
that  I  :  I  is  the  fundamental  proportion  from  which  all 
other  ratios  are  developed. 

It  is  evident  that  other  ratios  can  be  developed  from 
this  in  such  ways  as  to  make  the  fact  of  proportion 
apparent  in  only  the  degree  in  which  the  numbers  repre- 
senting the  ratios  are  small.  After  1:1,  the  next  easiest 
to  recognise  is  that  of  I  :  2,  as  between  the  first  of  the 
upper  and  of  the  lower  lines  at  the  left  of  Fig.  58. 


FIG.  58.— LINES  !N  PROPORTION. 
See  pages  337  and  338. 

Nor  is  it  difficult  to  recognise  the  relationship  of  1:3. 
as  between  the  second  pair  of  lines  in  this  figure,  or  of 
2:  3,  as  between  the  third  pair.  But  it  is  evident  that  as 
the  numbers  representing  the  ratios  increase  in  value, 
these  ratios  become  less  recognisable;  as,  for  instance, 
when  they  are  as  4  :5,  or  as  5  : 7,  as  between,  respect- 
ively, the  fourth  and  fifth  pairs  of  lines  in  this  Fig.  58. 
When,  at  last,  we  get  to  a  relationship  that  can  be 
expressed  only  by  large  numbers  like  10:  1  i,or  15  :  16,  the 
mind  is  no  longer  able  to  recognise  even  its  existence. 

There  is  a  way,  however,  in  which  one  may  be  made 
to  recognise  it,  even  when  represented  by  comparatively 
large  numbers.  This  is  when,  in  accordance  with  the 
elementary  process  in  proi^ortion  of  putting  like  with 
like,  the  wliolcs  of  the  forms  that  are  to  be  compared  are 
measured  off  into  like  subdivisions,  i'^or  instance,  it 
is  far  more  easy  to  recognise  the  relationship  of  4:5,  or 
at   least    that    there    is  such    a   relationship,   when    it    is 


33^ 


TJIE  ESSENTIALS   OF  yKSTHETICS. 


expressed  as  in  Fig.  59,  below,  than  when  it  is  expressed 
as  in  lines  like  those  in  P^'g.  58,  page  337.  Accordingly, 
like  subdivisions  when  they  are  indicated  as  in  Fig.  59 


FIG.   59.--LINES  SUBDIVIDED  TO  INDICATE  PROPORTION- 
See  page  33S. 

may  show  not  only  the  relationship  that  each  subdivision 
sustains  to  each  other  subdivision  that  measures  the  same 


;A|iv& 


^- ^  OiiV^  ,s  ,s  .s  .V  .^.  .v  .v..,^^v .%  .s 

'  'AX-..-.X 


FIG.  60.-TYPE  OF  AN  ASSYRIAN  SQUARE. 
Sec  pages  340  and  341. 

as  itself,  but  the  relationship  also   that  whole  series   of 
subdivisions  sustain   to  other  series  of  them,   which,   as 


340 


THE  ESSENTIALS    OF    JESTIIETICS. 


series,  do  not  measure  the  same.  Thus,  the  panels  in 
the  lower  story  in  the  Assyrian  tower  in  I'^ig.  60,  page 
338,  show  that  the  whole  length  of  each  story  sustains  a 
certain  definite  relationship  to  the  whole  length  of  each 
other  story.  So,  too,  the  ornamental  divisions  in  the 
spire  in  Chichester  Cathedral  (Fig.  61,  page  339)  show 
that  the  whole  spire  sustains  an  exact  relationship  of  3  :  i 
to  the  square  part  of  the  tower  visible  below  it. 

We  are  told  by  \V,  W.  Lloyd  in  his  "Memoir  on  the 
Systems  of  Proportion,"  published  with  Cockerill's 
"Temples  of  /Egina  and  Bass;ii,"  page  64,  that  all  the 
architectural  quantities  as  made  proportionate  were 
estimated  by  the  Greeks  chiefly  in  two  ways:  by  rectilin- 


FIQ    62.— FIGURES  WITH  LINES  SUBDIVIDED  TO  INDICATE  PROPORTION. 
Sec  pages  103  ami  341. 

ear  proportions,  i.  c,  by  divisions  of  one  continuous 
straight  line;  and  by  rectangular  proportions,  /.  c,  by  a 
comparison  of  length  and  breadth,  height  and  width, 
etc.,  at  right  angles.  W'e  have  considered  the  first  of 
these  ways.  In  considering  the  second,  we  can  expect, 
of  course,  no  change  in  principle.  In  case  the  lines  to 
be  compared  form  adjacent  sides  of  a  rectangle,  the  ratio 
between  the  lines  must  be  recognisable  in  the  degree  in 
which  it  can  be  expressed  in  small  numbers,  1:2,2:3, 
3:  4,  etc.  Or,  if  comparativ^ely  large  numbers  be  neces- 
sitated,  they   can    still   be   recognised   in    the   degree    in 


PROPORTION  RENDERED  RECOGNISABLE. 


341 


which  certain  marks  suggest  them  to  the  eye.  Notice 
this  Fig.  62,  representing  3:  5,  and  4:  7.  As  apph'ed  in 
actual  construction  also,  observe  Fig.  60,  page  338;  and 
the  like  horizontal  or  vertical  divisions  in  Fig.  28,  page 
219,  Fig.  32,  page  225,  and  Fig.  33,  page  226. 

Of  course  this  method  of  making  lengths  and  breadths 
seem  in  proportion  in  the  same  figure  can  make  them 
seem  so  in  adjacent  figures;  in  other  words,  it  can  make 
one  figure  as  a  whole  seem  in  proportion  to  another 
figure.  If,  in  such  cases,  tlie  figures  be  rectangles,  they 
may  be  similar  in  width,  and  then  their  relationships  may 
be  determined  by  the  ratios  of  their  heights,  as  in  the 
first  three  rectangles  at  the  left  of  V\g.  63.      Or  if  the 


nU 


n 


D 


F'Q.63.     RECTAN3LES  IN  PROPORTION. 
^^eL■  page  341. 


rectangles  be  similar  in  height,  their  relationships  may  be 
determined  by  the  ratios  of  their  widths,  as  in  the  fourth, 
fifth,  and  sixth  rectangles  in  the  same  figure.  Or,  if  the 
rectangles  be  similar  neither  in  width  nor  in  height,  their 
relationships  may  still  be  determined  by  the  ratios,  each 
to  each,  of  both  these  respective  dimensions,  as  in  the 
seventh,  eighth,  and  ninth  rectangles  in  Fig.  63. 

So  far  we  have  c(jnsidered  onl\-  straight  lines  and  rect- 
angular figures.  Of  course,  there  are  other  figures,  and 
tli'j}-  form  avast  majorit}',  that  are  not  composed  of  lines 
of  this  character.  It  \<  evident  that  to  compare  the 
measurements  of  these  figures,  especially  when  they  differ 
for  different  reasons  is  extremely  difficult;  not  only  so 
but    that    it    is    impossible,    unless    all   can    be   shown   to 


34-' 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF   .-ESTHETICS. 


be  allied  to   some  simpler   figure  which   can   serve  as    a 
standard  of  measurement.     This  simpler  figure,  which  is 


FIG-  64.  — FIGURES     RELATED  BECAUSE  INSCRIBABLE  IN  THE  SAME  SQUARE. 
See  page  342. 

just  as  essential  to  the  determining  of  like  space-dimen- 
sions in  shape  as  a  yardstick  is  to  the  determining  of  like 


FIG.  65.— FIGURES  RELATED  BECAUSE  INSCRIBABLE  IN  THE  SAME  RECTANGLE. 
See  page  342. 

lengths,  may  be  either  actually  outlined  at  the  time  of 
comparing  the  measurements  or  only  ideally  imagined. 


o 


^^ 

A 

\J^ 

d 

FIG.  66.— RELATIONSHIP  OF  FIGURES  AS  INDCATED  AND  AS  NOT  INDICATED. 
See  pages  342  and  343. 

Ikit  whether  actually  outlined  or  not,  on  the  principle 
that  things  equal  to  the  same  thing  are  ecpial  to  one  an- 


□ 


FI3    G7. -FIGURES  RELATED  BECAUSE  INSCRIBABLE    IN  FIGURES  IN    PROPORTION. 
See  page  343. 

other,  all  other  figures  inscribed  in  this  simpler  figure  and 
that  touch  all  its  sides  can,  for  this  reason,  be  recognised 
as  related.      See  Figs.  64,  65,  and  66. 


PROPORTION   RENDERED    RECOGNISABLE. 


343 


It  is  well  to  observe,  however,  that  the  more  complex 
figures  cannot  alwa}-s  be  recognised  as  being  related,  in 
case  the  outlines  of  the  simpler  figures  do  not  accom- 


FiG.  68.— CHATEAU  DE  RANDAU,  VICHY.  FRANCE. 
See  paL,'e  343. 

pany  them.  The  first  three  forms  in  V\'g.  66,  when  they 
are  separated  from  the  rectangles  in  which,  in  the  last 
three  forms,  they  arc  shown  to  be  inscribable,  do  not 
suggest  any  particular  relationship  to  one  another.  Nor 
would  the  fifth  and  sixth,  or  the  seventh  and  eighth 
forms  in  h'ig.  67,  page  343,  were  it  not  for  the  rectan- 
gles in  the  first  and  second,  with  which  the  figure  shows 
them  to  be  connected.  Or,  to  inelicate  the  practical 
bearings  upon  art  of  this  remark-,  it  is  conceivable  that 
the  different  triangles  described  b\-  tlie  pitcli  of  the 
gable-windows,  roofs,  and  turrets  in  I''ig.  ('■S,  page  343, 
\\-oulcl  all  be  found  tr)  be  exactly  inscribable  in  rectangles 
which,  according   to   what  was   said   on    page   342,  are    in 


344 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  .liSTHETICS. 


proportion  to  one  another.  But  because  the  rectangles 
are  not  visible,  and  in  the  circumstances  cannot  be  made 
visible,  the  different  triangles  do  not  seem  to  be  either  in 
proportion  or  in  harmon)'.  Notice,  on  the  contrary, 
how  the  rectangular  framings  into  which  are  set  the 
arched  doors  and  windows  in  the  middle  of  the  front  of 
the  building  in  Fig.  69,  below,  redeem  the  whole  from 
an  effect  of  incongruity  and  disproportion  which,  other- 
wise, might  characterise  it. 

The  use  of  these  simpler  lines  or  figures  as  standards 


FIG.  69.— WALKER  MUSEUM,  CHICAGO  UNIVE  RSITY. 
See  page  344. 


COSMOPOLITAN  "  MAGAZINE. 


of  measurement  has  a  bearing  upon  the  methods  of  de- 
termining the  proportions  of  the  human  form.  Fig.  70, 
page  345,  is  divided  into  eight  parts  by  horizontal  lines; 
and  Fig.  71,  page  346,  shows  ho\\'  such  lines  can  be  indi- 
cated in  the  clothing.  The  first  figure  to  the  left  shows 
a  division  into  four  equal  parts;  the  next  figure  to  the 
right  of  it,  a  division  into  five  ecpial  parts;  and  the  other 
two  figures,  divisions  into  six  ccjual  parts.  Fig.  72 
shows  costumes,  fashionable  and  not  fashionable,  in 
which  there  are  no  suggestions   of   etjual    di\'isions.      A 


PROPORTION   IN    THE   HUMAN   FACE.  345 

elance  at  the  results  will  be  enoufjh  to  reveal  their  unass- 
thetic  effects,  and  that  these  are  due  to  a  lack  of  likeness 
in  measurements. 

Now  let  us  apply  the  same  principle  to  the  counte- 
nance. Here  there  are  more  features  like  eyes,  nose, 
mouth,  and  ears,  which  themselves  divide  up  the  spaces, 


FIG.  70.— LINES    AND  CURVES  INDICATING  PROPORTIONS  OF  A  FORM 
TAKEN  FROM  PUTNAM'S  HAND-BOOK. 

Sec  pat^c.s  344,  35",    35C>- 

and  artificial  lines  are  not  so  important.  If  one  be  facin<^ 
us,  it  is  wellni;4h  iinpt^ssible  not  to  suppose  an  imaginary 
vertical  straight  line  drawn  from  the  mitldle  of  his  fcjrehead 
to  tlie  middle  of  his  chin,  as  in  I'ig.  73,  page  347.  and 
if  we  fmd  this  line  pa.-K-,ing  through  the  middle  of  his  nose, 


346 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF    yESTHETICS. 


wc  obtain  an  impression  of  regularity  which,  so  far  as 
concerns  it  alone,  is  an  aid  to  the  agreeableness  and  con- 
sequent beauty  of  the  effect;  but  in  the  degree  in  which 


FIG.  71. -COSTUMES  DIVIDING  HUMAN  FORMS  PROPORTIONATELY. 
See  page  344. 

the  middle  of  the  nose  is  out  of  this  vertical  line,  not 
onlv  irregularitv  but    ugliness   is   suggested.     A  similar 


(1      /' ' 


.^^ 


FIQ.  72.— COSTUMES  NOT  DIVIDING  HUMAN  FORMS  PROPORTIONATELY. 
See  page  344. 

tendency  of  thought  causes  us  to  suppose  other  imagin- 
ary vertical  straight  lines,  drawn,  as  in  the  same  Fig.  "Ji, 
at  equal  distances  from  this  central   line;  and  from  them 


PROPORTION   IN    THE    HUMAN  FACE. 


347 


we  may  gain  an  impression  of  relative  regularity  by  no- 
ticing to  what  extent  the  lines  pass  tlirough  corresponding 
sides  of  the  face.  Besides  this,  we  are  prompted  to  sup- 
pose horizontal  lines  drawn,  as  indicated  in  the  same 
figure,  across  the  forehead,  eyes,  and 
mouth;  and  from  these  lines,  too,  we 
form  judgments  with  reference  to  the 
degrees  of  regularity.  If  the  hair  or 
one  eyebrow  be  farther  down  on  one 
side  of  the  forehead  than  on  the  other, 
or  if  the  arch  of  the  eyebrows  be 
not  symmetrically  rounded,  or  if  the 
sides  of  the  mouth  incline  downward 
FIG.  73.    FRONT  FACE     or  upward,  or  a  lip  be  larger  on  one  side 

DIVIDED  BY  LINES.  .  .1  ^i  ,  •  4.1  r        *- 

t;p,.  ,.a,TP^  - ,-   air,      than  on  the  other,  we  notice  the   tact. 

act  pages  _-)43,  340, 

34S,  34g.  Of  course    we  do   this,  only  so  far  as 

we  compare  the  result  with  that  of  an  imaginary  straight 
line  drawn  through  the  feature.  Of  like  measurements, 
there  are,  of  those  that  are  horizontal,  five  at  the  level  of 
the  eyes, — two  filled 
by  the  eyes  them- 
selves, two  by  the 
sp^accs,  as  seen  from 
the  front,  between 
the  eyes  and  the 
ears,  and  one  filled 
by  the  width  of  the 
nose.  Three  other 
like  horizontal  meas- 
urements may  be 
seen    at   the   level  (jf 

the    mrjuth,    one    filled    by    tiie    main     outlines     of     the 
nvnith,  —  not   includinL;'  all  of  them,-   an<l   the  other  two 


FIG.  74.      SIDE  FACE  DIVIDED  BY    LINES. 
See  ])ai;es  34S,  349 


348 


THE   ESSENTIALS  OF  .ESTHETICS. 


by  the  spaces  on  each  side  between  the  mouth  and  the 
sides  of  the  cheeks.  Another  like  horizontal  measure- 
ment may  be  seen  also  at  the  nostrils,  and  still  another 
at  the  lowest  point  of  the  chin.  The  same  fi^aire  shows 
like  vertical  measurements  between  the  top  of  the  head 
and  the  top  of  the  forehead,  also  between  this  and  the 
bridge  of  the  nose,  also  betw^een  this  and  the  nostrils, 
and,  again,  between  these  and  the  chin. 

These    measurements   conform  to  the   Greek   type  of 


FIG.  75-— FACIAL  DIVISIONS. 
See  pages  34S,  349. 


FIG.  76--FACIAL  DIVISIONS. 
See  pages  34S,  349. 


face,  which  this  figure,  and  Fig.  74,  page  347,  are  supposed 
to  represent.  It  must  not  be  inferred,  however,  that  all 
faces,  in  order  to  meet  the  requirements  of  proportion, 
need  be  similar.  Not  all  the  spaces  in  Fig.  75,  page 
348,  or  in  Fig.  76,  page  348,  are  divided  vertically  in  the 
same  way  as  in  Fig.  "Ji,  page  347,  and  74,  i^age  347,  nor, 
as  compared  with  one  another,  are  the  spaces  in  l^^igs.  75 
and  76  divided  in  the  same  way.  Yet  they  are  all  divided 
so  that  certain  measurements  in  each  are  like  one  another. 
These  like  measurements,  moreover,  are  such  as,  probably, 


PROPORTION  IN  THE    HUMAN  FACE.  349 

half  the  people  in  the  world,  without  ever  having  been 
aware  of  it,  have  been  in  the  habit  of  perceiving.  In 
other  words,  they  have  been  in  the  habit,  when  looking 
at  a  face,  of  comparing,  mentally,  the  distance  between 
the  chief  line  of  the  eyebrows  and  of  the  eye,  with  the 
distance  between  the  nostrils  and  the  mouth,  and  also  of 
comparing,  above  and  below  these  narrower  spaces,  the 
wider  distances  between  the  hair  and  the  eyebrows,  the 
eyes  and  the  nostrils,  and  the  mouth  and  the  chin.  The 
narrower  distances  are  usually  to  the  wider  as  1:2, 
though,  in  accordance  with  the  principle  of  alternation, 
it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that  the  ratio  between  the 
two  should  be  expressible  in  just  these  numbers.  All 
that  is  necessary  is  that  the  first  and  third  measurements 
should  seem  alike,  and  that  the  second  and  fourth,  which 
also  seem  alike,  should  seem  sufificiently  unlike  the  first 
and  third  not  to  confuse  the  mind  by  suggesting  like- 
ness where  it  is    not  supposed  to  be  suggested. 

If  our  readers  will  examine  Figs.  75  and  jG,  and  then 
recall  their  own  experiences,  when  judging  of  faces,  they 
will  probably  be  ready  to  admit  that,  much  as  has  been 
made  of  the  Greek  vertical  division  of  the  face  as  in  Figs. 
73  and  74,  they  seldom  think  of  comparing  either  the 
height  of  the  forehead,  or  the  length  of  the  nose,  with 
the  distance  between  the  nostrils  and  the  chin.  More- 
over, if  they  do  compare  these,  and  find  all  of  ecjual 
measurement,  they  do  not,  usually,  if  people  of  Knglish- 
sjjcaking  countries,  admire  the  arrangement.  It  fails  to 
represent  the  face  to  which  they  are  the  most  accus- 
tomed, or,  to  go  deeper,  it  fails  to  re[)resent  the  charac- 
teristics by  wliich  ihcy  are  most  attracted.  I'^)r  these 
ri'asons,  if  they  tell  us  that  they  consider  the  faces  in 
Figs.  75  and  76  more  .satisfactory  than  those  conforming  to 


350  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF  .ESTHETICS. 

the  Greek  type,  they  arc  justified.  According  to  the 
hiws  of  form,  properly  interpreted,  other  faces  may 
fulfil  ec[ually  with  the  Greek — though  in  a  different  way 
— the  principles  of  proportion.  But,  besides  this,  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  significance,  as  deriv^ed  from  association 
with  faces  of  another  type,  from  deductions  with  refer- 
ence to  the  characteristics  manifested  by  such  faces,  and 
from  sympathy  with  such  persons  as  possess  these  char- 
acteristics, it  is  in  complete  fulfilment  of  aesthetic  prin- 
ciples to  say  that  the  faces  are  as  beautiful  as  the  Greek, 
and  that  their  beauty,  to  one  of  the  race  and  country 
to  which  they  belong,  is  enhanced  on  account  of  its 
significance. 

The  outlines  enabling  us  to  recognise  that  two  complex 
figures  inscribed  within  them  arc  in  proportion,  need  not, 
invariably,  be  composed  of  straight  lines,  as  in  rectangles. 
Sometimes  it  is  impossible  that  forms  should  accomplish 
that  for  which  they  arc  intended  without  being  composed 
of  curved  lines  like  those  of  an  ellipse  or  of  a  circle. 
Either  of  these  may  be  made  a  standard  of  comparison 
by  which  to  judge  of  the  relative  mcasui  ements,  or — 
what  is  the  same  thing — the  proportions  of  the  contours 
drawn  about  it  or  within  it;  and,  of  course,  in  case  out- 
lines be  curved,  a  curved  standard  is  much  more  satis- 
factor)'  than  one  that  is  rectangular.  Notice  the  like 
segments  of  circles  made  to  describe  the  chief  curves  in 
the  foremost  outlines  of  the  human  form  in  I'ig.  70, 
P^igc  345. 

There  is  a  reason  for  the  use  of  these  circles  as  a  stand- 
ard of  measurement  derived  from  the  physiological  re- 
([uirements  of  the  eye,  especially  in  binocular  vision. 
i)r.  M.  I'^jster  says  in  his  "Text-Hook  of  I'hysiolog>'." 
sec.  ii.,   on   l^inocular  X'ision — that  "when  we   use  both 


CIR  CLES  AS  ME  A  SURES  OF  PR  OP  OR  TION.  3  5  I 

eyes  a  large  part  of  the  visual  field  of  each  eye  overlaps 
that  of  the  other;  but  that,  nevertheless,  at  the  same 
time,  a  certain  part  of  each  visual  field  does  not  so  over- 
lap any  part  of  the  other.  If  the  right  hand  be  held  up 
above  the  right  shoulder  and  brought  a  little  forward,  it 
soon  becomes  distinctly  visible  to  the  right  eye;  it  enters 
into  the  field  of  sight  of  the  right  eye.  But  if  the  right 
eye  be  closed,  the  right  hand  kept  in  its  former  position 
is  not  visible  to  the  left  eye;  it  is  outside  the  field  of 
sight  of  that  eye."  .  .  .  "The  dimensions  of  the 
field  of  sight  for  one  eye  will,  even  in  the  same  individ- 
ual, vary  with  the  width  of  the  pupil  and  other  dioptric 


Fia.  77. -CIRCLES  ILLUSTRATING    FIELD  OF  DISTINCT  VISION    FOR   BOTH   E.YSS 
TOGETHER. 
See  page  351. 

airangcments  of  the  eye."  We  may,  however,  conceive 
this  field  of  sight — especially  as  applied  to  that  central 
section  of  it  where  vision  is  most  distinct — to  be  approxi- 
mately circular.  But,  so  far  as  this  is  true,  notice  that 
tlie  whole  field  of  sight — not  for  one  eye,  but  for  both 
eyes  when  acting  conjointly — is  represented  neither  by 
the  single  circle  at  the  left  of  I'^ig.  'j'],  page  351,  nor  by 
the  two  separated  circles  at  the  right  of  this  figure;  but 
rather  by  the  space  enclosed  between  the  two  circumfer- 
ences of  the  circles  where  they  overlap,  as  in  the  :iecoiid 
and  tliird  drawings  of  this  figure.  This  space  has  the 
shape  termed  by  botanists  elliptic  lanceolate,-  -an  ellipse 
pointed;  and  of  all  outlines  v/holly  curved,  those  of  an 
upright  ellipse  fit  into  it  most  nearly. 

The  bearing  of  this  u[)on  our  present  subject  is  found 


352  THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  ESTHETICS. 

in  the  fact  that  the  whole  of  a  form  facing  us  can   be 
recognised  with  ease,  /.  c,  in  a  single  glance,  or,  at  least, 
a  single  conscious  glance,   in  the  degree  in  which    it   is 
conformed  to   vertical  elliptic-lanceolate   outlines.       In- 
deed, this  fact  thus  theoretically  unfolded,  can  be  con- 
firmed by  practical  experiments.      If  we  describe  at  the 
nearest  point  at  which  it  is    possible  to  perceive  all  its 
outlines,   an    ellipse  longer  vertically  than  horizontall}-, 
and  about  it  a  circle  of  the  same  diameter  as  the  vertical 
length  of  the  ellipse,  there  will  be  not  a  few  who  will 
find  it  slightly  more  easy  at  a  single  glance,  or  without 
consciously  changing  the  axis  of  the  eye,  to  perceive  all 
the  outlines  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter.      If  we  de- 
scribe about  the  circle  and  ellipse  a  square  of  the  same 
diameter  as  the   circle,  no   one   can   see   all   its   outlines 
without    consciously   changing   the   axis   of   the   eye,   as 
when  glancing  from  corner  to  corner;  and  if  we  describe 
about  the  square  a   rectangle  of   the   same  vertical  but 
twice  the   horizontal   dimensions,  we   cannot   see   all   its 
outlines  without  changing  tlie  axis  still  more  consciously. 
In  the  use  of  the  eyes,  the  difference  between  movement 
and  no  movement,  or  no  conscious  movement,  is  the  dif- 
ference between  activity,  work,  or  effort,  and  rest,  play, 
or    enjoyment.      But   this   is   the   same   difference   as   in 
Chapter  III.  of  this  book  is  said  to  separate  that  which 
is  done  with  a  utilitarian  aim  and  an  aesthetic.      If  a  form 
of  outline  naturally  fitting  into  the  shape  of  an  upright 
elliptical  figure,  be  the  one  which  requires,  to  recognise 
it,    the    least    visual  activity,  work,  or    effort,  then   this 
form  must  be  the  one  most  conformed  to  the  physiolog- 
ical requirements  of  the  eye.      In  other  words,  it  is  the 
form  most  in  JiarDioiiy  ^s'\\.\\  these  re(_[uirements;  therefore 
the    most    agreeable,    the    most    pleasurable,    the    most 


FIQ.  78.      VASES  OUTLINED  BY  ELLIPSES  AND  CIRCLES. 

353  23  •''^■'-'  I'-i;-^'-'  35 5 • 


354 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OE  ANESTHETICS. 


"fitted  to  be  perceived,"  which  is  the  exact  etymological 
meaning  of  the  word  cesthctic.  This  fact  furnishes  the 
best  possible  justification  for  calling  the  curve — particu- 
larly, as  we  shall  notice  presently,  the  one  found  in  the 
ellipse, — the  line  of  beauty. 

What  has  been  thus  found  to  be  true  with  reference  to 
the   elliptical   contour,    renders    significant   many   whole 


FIG.  79.      BUILDING  ENCLOSED  BY  CIRCLES. 
See  pages  222,  252,  201,  290,  293,  296,  302,  355. 

classes  of  facts  with  which  few  of  us  can  fail  to  be 
familiar.  Recall,  for  instance,  the  extensive  use  in  art 
of  this  elliptical  shape.  If  we  go  into  the  shops  where 
they  sell  implements  for  drawing,  whatever  else  they  may 
not  keep,  assortments  of  models  for  different  sizes  of 
ellipses  are  sure  to  meet  our  eyes.  The  one  ornamental 
object,  avowedly  not  modelled  after  an  appearance  in 
nature,  which  the  arts  of  all  lands  and  races  have  united 


SHAPES   OF    VASES. 


355 


in  producing,  is  the  vase;  and  this  is  ahnost  invariably 
conformed  to  vertical  elh'ptic-hmceolate  outlines.  See 
Fig-  /B,  page  353.  In  this  the  heavy  continuous  lines  are 
elliptic-lanceolate,  such  as  are  formed  by  the  convergence 
of  two  circles.  The  dotted  lines  describe  regular  ellipses ; 
and  the  slight  continuous  lines  represent  vases  framed  in 
elliptical  outlines  without  reference  to  converging  circles. 
Again,  in  architecture,  the  form  that  general  usage  has 
shown  to  be  the  most  satisfactory  is  one  which,  whether 


FIQ.8O.    -WOMAN'S  FORM    ENCLOSED  BETWEEN  CIRCLES. 
Sec  page  355. 

we  consider  it  as  exemplified  in  the  cupola  or  the  dome, 
is  like  that  described  within  the  space  enclosed  between 
circles  in  the  centre  of  h'ig.  79,  page  354,  and  even  if  the 
building  be  wide,  the  form  preferred  for  this  is  one  con- 
taining at  least  a  central  part  which,  as  in  h'ig.  79,  it  is 
possible  to  enclose  in  such  a  space.  Notice,  too,  in  I'^ig. 
Sc),  page  355,  lu)w  thehuman  form  as  a  whole  fits  into  the 
same  elliptic-lanceolate  shape. 

These  human  forms  that  ai'c  inserted  in  this  book  were 
drawn  not  by  the  authcjr,  but  b\'  others  to  represent  what 


356  THE   ESSENTIALS    OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

were  supposed  to  be  approximately  perfect  proportions. 
Is  it  not  remarkable  that  like  circles  outline  so  many 
general  features  of  the  contour  when  viewed  either  in 
repose,  as  in  Fig.  70,  page  345;  Fig.  81,  page  356;  or  in 
action,  as  in  Fig.  82,  page  357?  One  who  will  go  over  any 
representations  of  the  human  figure  with  compasses  will 


FIQ-  81.— WOMAN'S  FORM  ENCLOSED  BETWEEN  LIKE  CIRCLES. 
See  page  356. 

be  surprised  to  find  how  large  a  part  of  a  segment  of  ex- 
actly the  same  circle  fits  either  the  bend  of  the  calf,  fore- 
arm, thigh,  abdomen,  chest,  or  back.  If,  then,  his 
experience — say  at  a  bathing-place— causes  him  to  recall 
the  aesthetic  influences  of  such  formations  as  a  long  arm 
or  leg  combined  with  great  leanness,  or  a  small  chest 
combined  with   an    abnormally  large   abdomen,   he    will 


CURVES  IN  NUAfAN    FORM.  357 

find  upon  reflection  that  the  effects  of  disproportion, 
while  attributable  partly  to  association,  arc  also  attribut- 
able partly  to  a  recognition  of  an  absence  of  like  curves. 
Or,  to  illustrate  this  fact  from  a  contrary  condition,  every- 
body admires  a  small  ankle  and  a  good-sized  calf.     Yet 


FIG.  82.      CIRCLES    DRAWN  ABOUT   A  FORM   IN    GRACEFUL  ACTION. 
SIDE   VIEW. 

See  page  356. 


the  moment  the  calf  becomes  so  large  proportionately  a.s 
to  interfere  with  the  suggestions  of  a  like  curve  in  this, 
and  in  the  outlines  of  the  hip,  almost  everybody  is  con- 
scious of  receiving  a  suggestion  of  disproportion. 

What  has  been  said  of  proi)ortion  is  sufficient   for  our 
present  pur[)Ose;  /.  c,  to   indicate  the  general   principle 


358  THE    ESSENTIALS   OF   .ESTHETICS  . 

involved.  Those  who  may  wish  to  study  the  subject  fur- 
ther, as  apph'ed  either  to  the  human  form  or  to  other 
products  in  the  arts  of  sight,  may  consult  pages  32  to 
253  of  the  author's  "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Colour  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

IIAKMOW    OF   TONE    IX    THE    ARTS    OF    SOUND. 

The  P>ffects  of  Khythm  and  of  Harmony  Illustrate  the  Same  Principle — 
What  Causes  Loudness  and  Pitch  of  Tone — What  Causes  (Quality — 
Musical  Tones  Compounded  of  Partial  Tones  Caused  by  Vibrations 
Related  as  1:2,  2:3,  etc. — These  Partial  Tones  are  Merely  Repeated 
in  Scales  — And  Chords — Musical  Harmony  Results  from  Putting 
Together  Notes  Having  Like  Partial  Effects — This  True  of  the  Most 
Complex  Arrangements  —  True  of  Poetic  Harmony. 

AS  stated  on  page  334,  the  most  important  difference 
between  the  effects  of  rhythm  and  of  musical  har- 
mony is  found  in  the  fact  that,  in  the  latter,  the  mind  is 
not  directly  conscious,  as  it  is  in  the  former,  of  divisions  or 
subdivisions  in  time.  It  is  conscious  merely  of  an  agree- 
able thrill  or  glow.  That  this  thrill  is  experienced  in  the 
degree  in  which  the  divisions  are  alike,  or  arc  multiples 
of  those  that  are  alike,  is  a  scientific  discovery. 

The  chief  facts  with  reference  to  the  subject  for  which 
we  are  indebted  to  science  arc,  first,  that  degrees  of 
loudness  are  determined  by  the  relative  amplitude  of 
vibrations.  A  string  of  a  certain  texture  and  length 
will  [jroduce  a  loud  sound  in  the  degree  in  which  it  is 
struck  violently,  and,  therefore,  caused  to  cover  a  greater 
space  with  its  vibratit^ns.  The  second  fact  is,  that  de- 
grees of  pitch  are  determined  b\'  the  relative  time  of 
vibrations.  A  string  shortened  in  length,  and  therefore 
vibrating  more  rapidly,  will  prodtice  a  liiglier  tone.  It  is 
from  this  fact,  that,  by  very  simple  experiments,  the  law 

350 


36o 


THE    ESSENTIALS    OF  .-ESTHETICS. 


was  discovered  that  harmonic  tones  arc  related  to  one 
another  according  to  certain  definite  ratios. 

After  physicists  had  proved  that  degrees  of  loudness  in 
sound  are  determined  by  the  amplitude  of  vibrations, 
and  degrees  of  pitch  by  the  time  of  vibrations,  they 
felt  that  nothing  was  left  to  determine  the  quality  of 
sounds  except  the  forms  of  vibrations.  It  was  natural 
to  suppose,  too,  that  the  waves  of  sound  produced  by 
strings,  or  by  wind-instruments, — a  trumpet,  or  a  human 
throat,  for  instance,  deviated  as  they  are  from  a  straight 
course  by  a  number  of  curves  and  angles, — must  neces- 
sarily be  more  or  less  compound,  and,  being  so,  must 
differ  in  form  for  different  kinds  of  instruments.  Con- 
siderations of  this  sort  caused  investigations  to  be  made 
into  the  forms  of  vibrations;  and  by  means  of  very 
ingenious  expedients, — by  magnifying,  for  example,  the 
vibrations  of  a  cord  or  pipe,  and  making  them  visible, 
through  using  an  intense  ray  of  light  to  throw  an  image 
of  them  upon  a  canvas  in  a  darkened  room, — the  forms 
assumed  by  the  vibrations  caused  by  many  of  the  ordi- 
nary musical  instruments  have  been  accurately  ascer- 
tained. These  forms  have  been  resolved,  according  to 
well-known  mathematical  principles,  into  their  constituent 
elements.  For  instance,  if  the  form  of  vibration  be  as  in 
the  first  of  these  examples,  it  may  be  resolved  into  the 
forms  that  are  in  the  second. 


QUALITY  IN  MUSIC.  361 

In  short,  investigation.^  of  this  character  have  shown 
that  musical  sounds  may  result,  and  usually  do  result, 
not  from  simple  but  from  compound  forms  of  vibrations; 
that  is  to  say,  in  connection  with  the  main  waves  there 
are  other  waves.  All  these  are  not  invariably  present, 
but  when  present  they  are  related  to  the  main  wave — i.  c, 
in  tones  that  make  music  as  distinguished  from  noise — 
as  2  :i,  3:1,  4:1,  5:1,  6:1,  7:1,  8:1,9:1,  or  even  in  some 
cases  as  10 :i.  In  other  words,  these  smaller  accompany- 
ing waves  may  vibrate  two,  three  or  four  times,  and  so  on 
up  to  ten  times,  while  the  main  wave  is  vibrating  once. 
But  this  is  not  all.  The  sounds  of  these  compound 
waves  have  been  analysed.  By  means  of  instruments 
like  Hclmholtz's  resonators,  which  are  small  brass  boxes 
or  globes  each  made  of  such  a  size  as  to  respond  sympa- 
thetically to  a  certain  pitch,  it  has  been  found  that  each 
form  of  wave  represented  in  a  note  produces  a  separate 
pitch  of  its  own.  When,  therefore,  a  tone  is  sounded  on 
a  violin,  we  hear  in  it  not  only  this  tone  caused  by  the 
vibrations  of  the  whole  length  of  the  string,  but  also  in 
connection  with  it  a  number  of  other  partial  tones,  as  all 
the  constituents  of  any  one  note  are  called,  each  of  which 
tones  has  its  own  pitch,  produced  by  vibrations  of  one- 
half,  one-third,  or  one-fourth,  etc.,  of  the  length  of  the 
string. 

The  difference  in  the  number,  the  combination,  and 
the  relative  loudness  of  these  partial  tones  in  a  musical 
sound  is  what  determines  its  ([uality  or  timbre.  In 
instruments  like  kettle-drums,  cymbals,  or  bells,  one  side 
is  almost  invariably  thicker  than  the  other,  h'or  this 
reason,  the  main  vibrations  are  not  uniform,  and,  of 
course,  the  partial  tones  cannot  be  so.  .Such  instru- 
ments, accordingly,  are  less  musical  than  noisy,  and  are 


362 


THE   ESSENTIALS   OF  ALSTHETICS. 


used  on  only  exceptional  occasions.  But  in  ordinary 
musical  sounds  the  partial  tones,  if  present  at  all, — they 
differ  as  produced  by  different  instruments, — are  indi- 
cated in  the  notation  below.  Notice  that  the  prime 
tone  is  counted  as  the  first  partial  tone;  also  that 
the  second,  fourth,  and  eighth  partials  are  the  same  as 
the  prime  tone  with  the  exception  of  being  in  higher 
octaves. 


Partial  tones 
of  the  pitch 
of  C 


Of  F.  of  wliich  C  is 
the  tliird  and  near- 
est partial 


Of  G,  which  itself  is 
the  third  and  nearest 
partial  of  C 


bb 


d'        I 


f^^ 


r^ 


f«-^- 


I2=G— (=1 


■1— G 


r 


a'    b' 


The  notes  that  are  used,  c  A  J  S^y  ^^  the  degree  in 
which  they  are  long,  indicate  tones  which  the  reader 
needs  most  to  notice;  and  the  marks  after  the  letters 
indicate  the  relative  distance  of  a  tone  from  the  octave 
of  the  tone  which  is  the  standard  of  pitch.  C,  F',  or 
G',  for  instance,  are  one  octave  below  C,  F,  or  G,  and 
these  are  one  octave  below  c,  f,  or  g,  and  two  octaves 
below  c',  f,  or  g'. 

Glancing  at  the  above,  suppose  that  we  were  to  sound 
the  note  C,  and  then  to  sound,  either  after  or  with  it, — 
for  the  laws  of  harmony  have  to  do  with  the  methods  of 
using   notes   both   consecutively   and  conjointly, — notes 


MUSICAL    SCALES. 


363 


whose  partial  tones  connect  them  most  closely  with  C, 
— what  notes  should  we  sound?  We  should  sound  V ,— 
should  we  not? — of  which  C  is  the  third  partial,  and  G, 
which  itself  is  the  third  partial  of  C.  This,  inasmuch  as 
every  C,  F,  or  G  of  whatever  octave  has  virtually  the 
same  sound,  would  give  us  the  following: 


^s-~ 


Rut  these  are  the  very  tones  accredited  to  the  "lyre  of 
Orpheus,"  which  represented  the  earliest  of  the  Greek 
scales. 

Let  us  add  to  these  notes  those  whose  partial  tones  are 
the  next  nearly  connected  with  C,  F,  or  G.  They  are 
D  the  third  partial  of  G,  E  the  fifth  partial  of  C,  A  the 
fifth  of  F,  and  B  the  fifth  of  G.      This  gives  us 

C— D— E— F— G— A— B— C, 
which  is  our  own  major  scale,  the  main  one  that  we  use 
to-day;  and  is  similar  to  one  used  by  the  Greeks  after 
theirs  had  been  expanded  to  seven  notes. 

Now  let  us  examine  the  tones  that  arc  used  conjointly 
in  what  are  termed  chords.  As  a  rule,  the  notes  (jf  the 
ordinary  major  scale  are  harmonised  thus: 


Let  us  compare  these  notes  with  the  scheme  of  the 
upper  partial  tones  of  C,  V ,  and  G.  We  at  once  notice 
that  C,  l'\  and  (i  are  the  three  bass  notes   used    in  har- 


364 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 


monisiiig  this  scale;  also  that  the  nearest  and  most  uni- 
versally present  partial  tones  of  C,  F,  and  G  are  those 
used  in  the  successive  chords. 

These  illustrations  are  sufficient  to  show  that  harmony, 
whether  we  apply  its  principles  to  consecutive  notes,  as 
in  melodies,  or  to  combined  notes,  as  in  chords,  involves 
bringing  together  sounds  that  are  composed  of  like  par- 
tial tones;  or,  as  we  might  say,  harmony  is  a  complex 
effect  produced  by  a  combination  of  like  partial  effects. 

Of  course  harmony,  like  rhythm  and  proportion,  often 
involves  very  intricate  arrangements  and  developments, 
but  through  them  all  can  be  detected  the  presence  of  this 
one  underlying  principle.  The  following,  for  instance, 
represents  a  common  way  of  accomplishing  the  result 
which  is  termed  "making  the  circuit  "  of  all  the  major 
keys.  Those  unacquainted  with  music  will  understand 
sufficiently  what  is  meant  when  it  is  said  that  the  chords 
of  one  key  are  often  discordant  with  those  of  another  key 
unless,  in  some  such  way  as  is  indicated  in  this  music,  an 
artificial   connection   has   been   made   between   the   two. 


Notice  how  effects  of  unity  are  secured  throughout  by 


QUALITY  IN  rOETRY.  365 

means  of  interchange  and  transition.  See  pages  311  and 
314.  Every  chord,  including,  of  course,  its  bass  note, 
contains,  at  least,  one  note  that  is  sounded  in  the  chord 
following  ;  and  thus,  as  applied  to  any  two  consecutive 
chords,  the  principle  of  putting  like  with  like  is  fulfilled. 

Harmony  in  music,  therefore,  may  be  said  to  be  an 
effect  of  unity  produced  when  complex  wholes  are 
grouped  by  putting  together  those  that  have  like  partial 
effects.  The  main  result  of  this,  as  intimated  on  page  310, 
is  consonance.  When  consonance  is  not  complete,  its 
general  effect  is  secured  through  using  such  methods  as 
those  of  interchange,  gradation,  and  transition,  which, 
nevertheless,  cause  all  the  divergent  parts  of  a  composi- 
tion to  assimilate.  (See  Appendix,  page  387.)  Because, 
too,  all  the  methods  in  the  chart  on  page  277  are,  more 
or  less,  connected,  music,  at  times,  reveals  traces  of  the 
influence  of  every  one  of  these. 

Some  may  suppose  that,  in  poetry,  there  are  no  effects 
corresponding  to  those  of  musical  harmony.  But  this  is 
not  so.  Inasmuch  as  poetry  uses  words,  the  articulation 
of  these  renders  them  more  clearly  distinguishable  from 
one  another  than  are  musical  notes;  and  there  is  not  the 
same  necessity,  as  in  the  latter,  for  merely  tonal  distinc- 
tions of  quality  and  pitch.  ]3ut  science  has  ascertained 
that  in  addition  to  the  pitch  on  which  a  vowel  or  conso- 
nant is  apparently  sounded,  it  has,  at  least,  one  partial 
tone  peculiar  to  itself,  which  tone  is  always  at  the  same 
pitch.  For  this  reason,  alliteration,  assonance,  and 
rhyme  all  involve  the  use  of  like  pitch  ;  consecutive  sylla- 
bles produce  different  consecutive  degrees  of  pitch,  i.  c, 
melodies,  or  what  are  termed  tunes  of  verse;  and  every 
syllable  containing  a  vov^'cl  and  a  C(jns(Miant,  like  an,  for 
instance,  contains  two  tones  that  may  or  may  not  har- 


366  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  /IlSTHEriCS. 

iiionisc.  For  these  reasons,  the  words  of  poetry,  though 
in  a  very  subtle,  but,  at  the  same  time,  sui^<:^estive  way, 
fulfil  the  same  methods  as  those  of  musical  harmony. 
See  the  author's  "Rhythm  and  Harmony  in  Poetry  and 
Music,"     Chapters  V.  to  XII. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

HARMON V    OF    COLOUR    IX    THE    ARTS    OK    SIGHT. 

rroductii)!)  of  the  Colours  of  the  Spectrum — Effect  of  Liglit  upon  Colours — 
Definition  of  Terms — Complementary  Colours — As  Produced  by  Light 
and  by  Pigments — The  After-image  in  Consecutive  Contrast — Simul- 
taneous Contrast — All  Colours  Impart  aljout  them  Tints  of  their  Com- 
plementaries — Principles  Determining  Use  together  of  Two  Colours — 
Of  Three  Colours — Of  Four  Colours — Consecutive  and  Simultaneous 
Contrast  Due  to  Physiological  Action  of  the  Eye — Correspondences 
between  Ratios  of  Harmonic  Colours  and  Tones — Owing  to  Minuteness 
of  Colour-Waves  Xothingin  ColoursCorresponds  to  the  I  )ifferent  Scales 
in  Music — The  Ratios  of  the  Two  Notes  of  a  Single  Musical  Scale 
Forming  the  Most  Perfect  Consonaiice — This  Ratio  as  Represented 
among  the  Colours — Colour  Harmony  as  Actually  Developed — Not 
from  Ratios  Occasioning  Vibrations,  but  from  Analysis  of  Light — 
The  I'ield-Tlieory  of  Colour-Harmony — 'i'heory  Rased  fjn  Psvchological 
Effects — On  I'hysiological  Effects^Tone,  or  tlie  Predominant  L'se  of 
One  (Jolour  in  a  Painting — Why  this  May  Fulhl  the  Same  Principle  of 
Harmony  as  the  Use  of  dreat  \'ariety  of  ("olour — Colour  Harmony  Re- 
sults from  an  Application  to  Colour  of  All  the  I'rinciplcs  Unfolded  in 
Chapters  XI\'.  and  X\'.  —  lieauty  in  Art — And  Suggestion — Conclusion. 

IT  is  now  more  than  two  centtuies  since  Newton,  an- 
alysing the  rays  of  the  sun,  detected  that  all  the  differ- 
ent colours,  except,  perhaps,  extreme  purple  are  contained 
in  light.  Most  of  us  know  how  to  reproduce  his  analysis. 
By  means  of  a  mirror,  the  sun's  rays  are  retlccted  in  a 
small  band  through  a  narrow  opening  in  a  window-shade 
or  blind,  and  sent  into  an  otherwise  darkened  room. 
When  they  enter  this  room,  they  are  made  to  pass 
through  a  glass  prism.  The  prism  turns  the  band  of  rays 
aside  from  its  direction,  and,  at  the  same  time,  separates 

3''7 


368  THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  yESTHETICS. 

it  into  many  bands  of  rays  which  arc  coloured,  and  each  of 
of  which,  after  leaving  the  prism,  continues  in  a  straight 
line.  If  these  bands  fall  on  a  white  wall  or  screen,  each 
produces  a  different  colour,  and  all  together  a  series  of 
colours  in  which  we  recognise  all  that  are  in  the  rainbow. 
Nearest  where  the  white  would  have  fallen,  if  the  prism 
had  not  intervened,  we  find  red,  and  next  to  this  the 
other  colours  in  this  order:  orange,  yellow,  green,  blue, 
indigo,  and  violet.  This  series  of  colours  is  called  the 
Spectrum. 

If,  aside  from  the  Spectrum,  we  test  the  effects  of 
different  degrees  of  light  upon  colours,  we  find  that  in  a 
darkened  room,  blue  appears  to  be  dark  blue,  but  as  we 
gradually  increase  the  light  it  becomes  first  blue,  then 
light  blue,  then  pale  blue,  then,  in  light  of  great  inten- 
sity, loses  its  blueness  almost  entirely,  becoming  very 
nearly  white.  So,  too,  if  in  place  of  different  degrees  of 
light,  we  use  black  or  white  pigments,  mixing  them  with 
coloured  pigments,  we  find  the  colours  becoming  respec- 
tively darker  or  lighter. 

The  different  kinds  of  colours  are  termed  Jnics.  When 
hues  are  in  the  state  in  which  they  appear  in  the  spec- 
trum,they  are  called  /////  or  Itii^Ji  colours.  If  darker  than 
in  the  spectrum,  the  colours  are  termed  dark,  if  lighter, 
light;  if  very  much  lighter,  pale,  or,  what  means  the 
same  thing,  broken.  When  full  colours  are  made  darker, 
their  different  degrees  of  darkness  are  termed  shades. 
When  they  are  made  lighter  their  different  degrees  of 
lightness  are  termed  tints.  The  degree  of  colouring  or  of 
dark  or  light  in  a  shade  or  tint  determines  the  tone,  as 
when  we  speak  of  a  golden  and  gay,  or  a  gray  and  sombre 
tone.  Paintings,  however,  are  not  generally  said  to  be 
distinguished   by  tone  except  when   producing  the  effect 


TERMS  APPLIED  TO  COLOURS.  369 

described  on  page  381.  In  a/c?^//z7rcolour  the  tint  or  shade 
of  a  single  hue  is  prominent ;  in  a  neutral  colour,  there  is 
so  much  of  a  mixture  that  there  is  no  predominating  hue. 
The  warm  are  the  reds,  browns,  oranges,  yellows,  and 
associated  colours;  the  cold  ?iXt  the  greens,  blues,  violets, 
purples,  and  associated  colours.  Primary  is  a  term  for- 
merly applied  to  red,  yellow,  and  blue,  becaused  they 
were  supposed  to  be  primitives  from  which,  when  mixing 
pigments,  the  secondary  colours,  orange,  green,  and  violet 
were  derived,  orange  by  mixing  red  and  yellow,  green 
by  mixing  yellow  and  blue,  and  violet  by  mixing  blue 
and  red.  For  reasons  to  be  given  by  and  by,  however, 
these  distinctions  between  primary  and  secondary  are  not 
now  considered  tenable. 

Let  us  return  to  the  spectrum.  If  all  the  colours  to- 
gether make  white,  it  follows  that  the  absence  from 
white  light  of  any  of  its  constituent  elements  must  pro- 
duce a  colour.  This  logical  inference  has  been  confirmed 
by  the  following  among  other  experiments.  Between 
the  prism  and  the  spectrum  cast  by  it,  according  to  the 
explanations  given  on  page  367,  a  lens  bounded  by  cylin- 
drical surfaces  is  introduced.  This  lens  is  so  constructed 
that  it  reunites  the  prismatic  bundle  of  rays  into  a  single 
band,  /'.  ^.,it  restores  these  rays  to  the  same  condition  in 
which  they  were  before  they  reached  the  prism  from  the 
slit  in  the  window.  This  cylindrical  lens  now  gathers 
the  rays  together,  and  casts  upon  the  wall,  where  the 
spectrum  was  before,  merely  a  small  white  image  of  the 
slit  in  the  window,  giving  thus  a  proof,  in  addition  to 
the  others  just  noticed,  that  all  the  colours  together  make 
white.  If  now  between  the  cylindrical  lens  and  the  wall 
a  part  of  the  light  be  shut  off  by  means  of  a  screen,  a 
coloured  image  instantly  appears  u])on  the  wall.  If,  for 
24 


370 


THE  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 


shutting  off  this  part  of  the  h'ght,  one  use,  cemented 
to  a  plate  of  glass,  a  prism  finer  than  a  knife-blade, 
and  showing,  therefore,  no  sensible  dispersion  of 
colours,  although  its  power  of  refraction  remains,  it  will 
divide  the  rays  into  two  bands  which  will  form  two 
images  on  the  wall,  each  of  which  will  be  coloured.  In 
such  cases  the  colours  depend  upon  where  the  rays  are 
divided.  Beginning  with  the  rays  that  produce  the  red 
end  of  the  spectrum,  and  moving  the  dividing  prism 
gradually  toward  the  rays  that  produce  its  violet  end,  it 
is  found  that 


f  one  colour  be  red 

'     "        '■        "    orange 

'     "        "        "    yell<i\v 

'     "         "        "    yellowish  green 

'     "        ''        "    green 


the  other  is  bluish  green; 
"       '■       "  turquoise-blue; 
"       "      "  ultramarine-blue; 

"      "  violet; 
"       "       "  purple. 

These,  then,  are  the  two  colours  which  together  make 
white,  termed  for  this  reason  the  co))ipltnic)itary  colours. 
They  are  not,  as  some  will  notice,  the  colours  which  in 
former  times  were  supposed  to  make  white.  Those  were 
derived  from  experiments  with  pigments  in  the  following 
way:  It  was  found  that  red,  yellow,  and  blue  paint, 
when  mixed  together,  made  while,  or  rather  a  whitish 
grey.  It  was  supposed,  therefore,  that  if  two  colours 
were  to  be  used,  they  also,  in  order  to  represent  white, 
should  be  compounded  of  these  three  primitive  colours, 
as  they  were  called.  Artists  therefore  took  as  their  com- 
plementary colours 

red  and  green,  which  hitter  they  had  found  could  be  formed  by  mixing  yellow  and    blue  ; 

yellow  and  purple,  "        "  ' "        "        "  "        "        blue  and  red  ; 

blue  and  orange       "        "         "        "        "  "        "        "  "         "         red  and  yellow. 

Some  years  ago  the  German  physicist,  Ilelmholtz,  re- 
vealed very  clearly  the  erroneousness  of  this  supposition, 
showing  that,   largely  because   of    the   character   of    the 


CONSECUTIVE  CONTRAST.  37 1 

ingredients  entering  into  pigments,  the  results  are  dif- 
ferent when  pigments  are  mixed  and  wlien  colours  them- 
selves are  mixed. 

Now  let  us  consider  another  fact  with  reference  to 
complementary  colours.  If,  after  looking  steadily  for  a 
few  seconds  at  a  white  wafer  on  a  black  ground,  we  turn 
our  eyes  to  a  white  or  gray  ground,  with  nothing  on  it, 
we  frequently  seem  to  see  a  black  after-image,  as  it  is 
called,  of  the  same  shape  as  the  wafer.  If  we  look  in  the 
same  way  at  a  bluish  green  wafer,  and  then  turn  our  eyes 
to  the  gray  ground,  we  find  on  it  an  after-image,  if  not 
of  bluish  green,  of  red,  i.  e.,  of  the  colour  which  comple- 
ments the  bluish  green.  So,  if  we  try  other  colours,  we 
find  if  not  these  colours  themselves,  their  complementary 
colours  in  the  after-images.  If,  when  we  turn  our  eyes 
away  from  the  wafer,  the  surface  at  which  we  look  be  of 
the  same  colour  as  the  wafer,  the  complementary  colour  in 
the  after-image  is  pale  and  faint;  if  the  surface  be  of  the 
colour  com[)lemcntary  to  that  of  the  wafer,  the  comple- 
mentary after-image  is  more  brilliant  than  its  own  colour 
which  forms  the  background.  If  the  surface  be  of  any 
other  colour,  the  complementary  colour  of  the  after-image 
blends  with  it  and  produces  a  new  mixed  colour.  In  this 
way  the  after-image  of  the  bluish  green  wafer  would  be 
red  on  a  white  surface,  faint  red  on  a  bluish  green,  bril- 
liant red  on  a  red,  violet  (/.  c,  red  mixed  with  blue)  on  a 
blue,  orange  ( /.  c,  red  mixed  with  yellow)  on  a  yellow, 
and  so  on.      This  effect  is  termed  consecutive  contrast. 

There  is  another  effect  related  to  this  termed  simulta- 
neous contrast.  Charles  Blanc,  in  his  "Grammar  of 
Painting  and  I^ngraving,"  tells  us  that  I'Lugene  Delacroix, 
occupied  one  day  in  painting  yellow  drapery,  tried  in 
vain  to  give  it  the  desired  brilliancy,  and  said  to  himself, 


3/2  ESSENTIALS  OF  ANESTHETICS. 

"How  did  Rubens  and  Veronese  find  such  brilliant  and 
beautiful  yellows?"  He  resolved  to  go  to  the  Louvre, 
and  ordered  a  carriage.  It  was  in  1830.  At  that  time  in 
Paris  there  were  many  cabs  painted  canary-colour.  One 
of  these  was  brought  to  him.  About  to  step  into  it,  he 
stopped  short,  observing  to  his  surprise,  that  the  yellow 
of  the  carriage  produced  violet  in  the  shadows.  He  dis- 
missed the  coachman,  entered  his  studio  full  of  emotion, 
and  applied  at  once  the  law  that  he  had  just  discovered, 
which  is,  that  the  shadow  cast  by  an  object  of  a  certain 
hue  is  always  slightly  tinged  with  the  complement  of  that 
hue, — a  phenomenon  that  becomes  apparent  when  the 
light  of  the  sun  is  not  too  strong,  and  our  eyes,  according 
to  Goethe,  who,  as  Eckermann  tells  us  in  his  "Conversa- 
tions," made  a  similar  discovery,  "rest  upon  a  fitting 
background  to  bring  out  the  complementary." 

An  explanation  for  the  reasons  for  consecutive  and 
simultaneous  contrast  is  attempted  in  Chapter  XXH.  of 
the  author's  "  Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and 
Colour  in  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture."  Here 
it  is  sufficient  to  point  out  two  deductions  from  the  phe- 
nomena. The  first  is  that  all  colours  have,  at  times,  the 
effect  of  imparting  the  tints  of  their  complementaries  to 
any  surface  adjoining  their  own.  In  such  cases,  if  the 
surface  have  no  colour,  they  produce  one  there;  if  it 
have  their  complementary  colour,  they  make  this  more 
brilliant;  if  it  have  some  other  colour  yet  not  their  own, 
they  cause  this  and  their  complementary  to  blend  and 
produce  a  mixed  colour  different  from  either.  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  these  facts  render  it  exceedingly  difficult 
for  the  painter  to  secure  satisfactory  results  in  colours, 
whether  he  be  attempting  either  to  imitate  those  that  he 
sees    or    to    blend    any  colours  whatever  harmoniously. 


COLO  UK S  THA  T  GO  TO GE  THEN.  373 

With  reference  to  the  latter  problem,  it  seems  to  be  a 
natural  conclusion  from  what  has  been  said  that  he  can 
always  put,  side  by  side,  the  complementary  colours;  as 
red  and  bluish  green,  orange  and  turquoise-blue,  yellow 
and  ultramarine,  yellowish  green  and  violet,  and  green 
and  purple.  But,  as  the  principle  underlying  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  complementary  colours  is  that  the  two 
make  white,  it  seems  to  be  equally  clear  that  the  artist 
can  place  side  by  side  any  two  colours  which,  when  mixed 
with  one  another's  complementaries,  can  complement; 
as  red  and  turquoise-blue,  for  instance,  because,  accord- 
ing to  the  principle  explained  on  page  372,  the  red  imparts 
a  bluish  green  tint  to  the  turquoise-blue,  and  the  tur- 
quoise-blue an  orange  tint  to  the  red.  Undoubtedly, 
some  of  the  most  effective  combinations  or  pairs  of 
colours,  not  complementary,  may  be  accounted  for  ac- 
cording to  this  rule.  The  two  are  harmonious  because, 
especially  when  one  of  the  colours  is  very  bright,  like  ver- 
milion, orange,  or  yellow,  it  is  possible  for  the  two, 
when  in  combination,  to  fulfil  the  principle  causing  us  to 
use  complementaries  even  better  than  would  complemen- 
taries themselves.  It  is  this  fact,  probably,  that  accounts 
for  the  satisfaction  taken  in  the  combinations  of  the  col- 
ours brought  together  according  to  a  colour  scale  of  Von 
]^czold  printed  in  his  ' '  Theory  of  Colour. ' '  This  scale  need 
not  be  described  here.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  pairs 
of  colours  to  which  it  leads  arc  much  the  same  as  those  to 
which  the  consideration  just  mentioned  applies,  and  some 
of  them  are  composed  of  the  colours  formerly  supposed 
to  be  complementary.      Von  l^ezold's  pairs  are  these: 

jiurple  and  i;reen.  orange  and  ullramarine. 

carmine  and  hluish  green.  yellow  and  bluish  violet, 

vermilion  and  tur(juoise-ljlue.  yellowish  green  and  j)urplish  violet. 


374  ESSENTIALS  OF  MS  THE  TICS. 

Experience  has  shown,  he  says,  that  these  form 
even  better  combinations  than  do  the  complementary 
colours. 

It  follows,  almost  as  a  corollary  from  what  has  been 
said,  that  when  more  than  two  colours  are  used  any  num- 
ber of  these  can  go  together  which,  together,  or  mixed 
with  their  complementary  effects,  can  make  white.  This 
rule  applies  to  the  old-fashioned  primaries,  red,  yellow, 
and  blue,  and  to  the  secondaries,  orange,  green,  and 
purple.  Von  Bezold  develops  and  particularises  the  rule 
as  follows : 

carmine,  yellowish  green,  and  ultramarine, 
vermilion,  green,  and  bluish  violet, 
orange,  bluish  green,  and  purplish  violet, 
yellow,  turquoise-blue  and  purple. 

In  using  four  colours,  Von  Bezold — and  in  this  others 
agree  with  him — advises  marking  the  effect  strongly  by 
taking  two  pairs,  as,  for  example,  purple  and  green  to- 
gether with  carmine  and  turquoise-blue,  one  in  each  of 
which  pairs  is,  in  the  spectrum,  near  one  in  the  other, 
and  then  arranging  all  the  colours  so  that  those  which,  in 
the  spectrum,  are  near  together,  shall  not  meet.  See 
page  368. 

The  second  deduction  legitimately  drawn  from  the 
phenomena  of  consecutive  and  simultaneous  contrast,  as 
explained  on  pages  371  to  373,  is  that  the  facts  are  due, 
in  part,  at  least,  to  the  physiological  action  of  the  eye; 
i.  c\,  to  the  way  in  which  it  receives  the  influences  of 
light  from  without.  These  influences,  scientists  tell  us, 
are  caused  by  waves  which,  in  some  way,  communicate 
vibrations  to  the  retina.  Here  is  a  table  of  waves  and 
vibrations  prepared  by  Sir  Thomas  Young: 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  EFFECTS  OF  COLOUR. 


375 


Extreme  red  . 

Red   ...  . 
Orange  .     . 

Yellow    .     .  . 
Green 

Blue  .     .     .  . 

Indigo    .     .  . 

Violet     .     .  . 
Extreme  violet 


Breadth  of  Wave. 

Vibrations  per  Second. 

oooo. 266 

458,000,000,000,000 

0000.256 

477,000,000,000,000 

0000.240 

506,000,000,000,000 

0000.227 

535.000,000,000,000 

0000.211 

577,000,000,000,000 

0000.196 

622,000,000,000,000 

0000.185 

658,000,000,000,000 

0000.174 

699,000,000,000,000 

0000.167 

727,000,000,000,000 

With  reference  to  this  subject,  however,  authorities 
differ.  In  one  of  the  latest  books  on  this  subject,  "Stud- 
ies in  Spectrum  Analysis,"  by  J.  N.  Lockyer,  the 
number  of  vibrations  causing  extreme  red  light  is  given 
as  392,000,000,000,000;  and  causing  extreme  purple  as 
757,000,000,000,000. 

If  there  be  any  correspondence  between  the  conditions 
causing  harmony  in  colour  and  in  tone,  we  ought  to  find 
the  ratios  between  series  of  vibrations  representing  the 
harmonic  colours  the  same  as  the  ratios  between  series  of 
vibrations  representing  the  harmonic  tones.  As  a  rule, 
however,  physicists  have  had  little  respect  for  those  who 
have  advocated  this  theory,  because  these  advocates  have 
usually  started  out  with  the  hypothesis  that  there  is  some 
absolute  and  necessary  connection  between  the  seven 
colours  of  the  spectrum  and  the  seven  notes  of  the  musical 
scale.  But,  as  a  fact,  there  may  be  more  than  seven  col- 
ours in  the  spectrum.  This  all  depends  upon  where,  as 
illustrated  on  page  370,  one  divides  the  rays.  Moreover, 
in  music,  seven  notes  are  used  merely  as  a  matter  of 
convenience.  There  have  been  scales  extensively  used 
of  four  and  six  notes,  and  possibly  our  own  might  be 
improved  by  the  addition  of  two  more.  There  is  a  prin- 
ciple, however,  as  was  shown  on  pages  362  to  364,  under- 


376  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

lying  the  formation  of  all  musical  scales,  as  well  as  of  all 
melody  and  harmony,  which  depends  upon  the  relative 
numbers  of  vibrations.  One  cannot  refrain  from  feel- 
ing, therefore,  that  it  is  logical  to  suppose  that  this  same 
principle  should  be  exemplified  in  that  which  causes 
colours  to  harmonise. 

It  does  not  allay  this  feeling,  to  remind  one  that  be- 
tween, say,  the  400  trillions  of  vibrations  causing  extreme 
red  and  the  750  causing  extreme  violet,  the  differences  in 
the  numbers  of  vibrations  do  not  correspond  to  those 
in  a  single  octave  in  music.  They  do  correspond  to 
those  in  the  musical  scale,  so  far  as  this  can  be  produced 
without  doubling  one  of  its  notes.  The  differences  cor- 
respond to  all  the  intervals  in  the  music  on  page  363,  be- 
tween Cand  B  inclusive.  If  an  upper  c  were  represented, 
then  (notice  the  music  on  page  362)  an  upper  d,  c,  etc., 
should  be  represented.  Otherwise  one  of  the  colours — • 
that  corresponding  to  C — would  have  double  the  value  of 
each  of  the  others.  As  it  is,  we  have  in  the  colours  all 
the  range  of  intervals  corresponding  to  those  of  a  single 
octave  without  encroaching  upon  a  second.  The  possi- 
bility, however,  of  producing  differences  in  colour  is  much 
greater  than  that  of  doing  the  same  in  sound.  Indeed, 
when  we  consider  the  innumerable  shades  and  tints  not 
merely  of  one  colour  but  of  all  other  colours  in  connec- 
tion with  which  this  one  may  produce  mixed  effects,  we 
are  forced  to  recognize  that  the  range  of  a  single  colour- 
octave,  such  as  can  be  used  in  painting,  is  practically 
much  greater  than  the  range  of  seven  or  eight  tone- 
octaves,  such  as  can  be  used  in  music. 

Now  turning  to  the  musical  scale,  let  us  notice  what 
arc  the  two  notes  between  C  and  B — /.  c,  between  the 
lower  do  and  the  si  of  the  scale  as  we  ordinarily  sing  it, 


COLOUR  AND  TONE  HARMONY 


177 


• — which  form  the  most  perfect  harmonics.  Glancing  at 
the  representation  of  the  partial  tones  in  the  first  column 
of  the  music  on  page  362,  we  shall  find  that  these  two 
notes  are  ^-^  and  c.  In  the  lower  scale,  between  C  and 
C,  there  is  no  partial  tone.  In  the  scale  above  this,  be- 
tween C  and  c  there  is  one  partial,  and,  therefore,  after 
c,  this  one  is  the  most  important  harmonic  partial  of  the 
series.  It  is  g.  This  g  is  the  third  partial  above  C; 
and  c,  in  the  same  scale,  is  the  third  c  above  C  The 
numerical  representative  of  ^  as  a  partial  is  3;  and  the 
numerical  representative  of  c  is  4.  .3  : 4,  therefore,  may 
be  said  to  be  the  ratio  representing  the  relationship  be- 
tween the  vibrations  causing  tones  which,  in  the  same 
octave,  are  the  most  nearly  harmonious. 

Let  us  observe  what  should  be  the  vibrations  causing 
the  complementary  colours  in  order  to  have  them  repre- 
sent this  ratio.      Here  we  have  it: 


Carmine-red   . 
Bluish  green   . 
Vermilion  .... 
Turquoise-blue    . 
Orange  or  Vermilion 
Turqu()ise-l)lue    . 
Orange  (?)  .... 
Ultramarine  (?)    . 
Yellow  (?)  .     .     .     . 
Bluibh  viol  It  (?)  .     . 
Yellowish  ^Tuen  . 
Violet    ..'... 

Green 

Purple 


Number  of  Tril 

lions  of 

Vibrations. 


472/ 

4Su  ) 
640  ) 
491  ) 
655  [ 

666  \ 

540) 
720  1 

74^'  \ 

5M,  ) 
7  V.  ) 


3  :  4 


These  numbers  of  trillions  of  vibrations,  with  exception 
of  those  in  the  pairs  marked  vith  an  ( ?),  in  which  yellow 


378  ESSENTIALS  OF  ESTHETICS. 

or  orange  appear,  arc  almost  exactly  the  numbers 
assigned  to  the  colours  on  page  375  ;  and,  in  all  cases,  the 
two  colours  placed  together  are  the  same  that,  on  page 
373,  are  said  to  be  complementary.  As  for  yellow  and 
orange,  they  contain  so  much  light,  and  are  so  nearly 
alike,  that  the  boundaries  between  them  are  difficult  to 
determine,  and  we  may  be  justified  in  doubting  the  ac- 
curacy of  the  computations  made  with  reference  to  them. 
In  a  general  way,  it  seems  to  be  indicated  that  harmonic 
colours  are  the  results  of  vibratory  effects  upon  the  eye  of 
multiples  of  like  measurements,  thus  fulfilling  exactly  the 
analogy  according  to  which  harmonious  effects  are  pro- 
duced upon  the  ear.  It  could  be  shown,  also,  that 
where  three  or  four  colours  are  harmonious,  there  is  the 
same  relation  between  the  vibrations  causing  them  as 
between  those  of  three  or  four  chording  musical  notes. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  these  results 
have  been  recognised  by  those  who  have  developed  in 
painting  what  is  termed  colour-harmony.  Like  tone-har- 
mony, this  was  developed,  at  first,  by  artists  of  excep- 
tional taste,  knowing  little  and  caring  less  about  the 
scientific  reasons  underlying  their  choice  of  combinations. 
But,  after  art  has  developed  to  a  certain  extent,  scientists 
always  make  a  study  of  its  effects.  That  which  they 
discover  increases  not  only  the  knowledge  and  the 
appreciation  of  art  on  the  part  of  the  general  public,  but 
also  adds  not  a  little  to  the  resources  of  the  artist  and 
to  his  ability  to  make  further  progress. 

Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  colour-harmony,  so  far 
as  it  has  been  developed  from  the  contributions  of 
science,  has  been  based  upon  the  relations  between 
vibrations  in  the  eye  in  the  same  way  in  which  tone-har- 
mony has  been  based  upon  the  relations  between  vibra- 


THE  FIELD-THEORY.  ^yg 

tions  in  the  ear.  The  numbers  of  the  hitter  vibrations 
can  be  and  have  been  definitely  determined.  Tlie  num- 
bers of  vibrations  causinij  the  colours  have  not  been 
determined  except  approximately.  For  this  reason,  and 
very  wisely,  the  principles  of  colour-harmony  have  been 
developed  from  facts  which,  though  related  to  those  of 
vibration,  have,  unlike  them,  been  definitely  ascertained. 
The  different  stages  of  development  have  been  somewhat 
as  follows : 

The  discoveries  with  reference  to  the  complementary 
colours,  as  described  on  page  370,  led  to  the  natural  sup- 
position that  the  eye  takes  pleasure  in  seeing  these  two 
together;  and  as,  in  all  cases,  the  two  were  found  to 
make  white,  it  led  to  the  supposition  that  any  two  or 
more  colors  making  white  would  cause  harmony.  Not 
long  after,  too,  it  led  to  the  supposition  that  these 
colours  must  be  introduced  into  a  painting  in  just  such 
proportions  as  to  make  white.  This  was  the  conclusion 
reached  by  the  English  physicist  Field,  in  ^\•hat  is 
termed  the  h'ield-theory.  J^'or  instance,  because  he 
found  that  when,  mixed  in  proportions  of  S,  5,  and  3, 
blue,  red,  and  yellow  make  white,  he  argued  that  the 
quantities  of  these  colours  used  in  the  same  composition 
should  represent  these  proportions.  A  law  of  this  kind, 
however,  though  it  might  be  applied  to  decoration, 
would  evidently  interfere  with  one  of  the  first  recpiisites 
of  the  art  of  painting,  namely,  that  it  should  represent 
nature.  In  how  many  landscapes  can  we  find  the  blue  of 
the  sky,  or  the  green  of  the  foliage,  or  the  bluish  gray 
of  a  lowery  day,  exactly  mingled  in  such  (quantities  with 
the  warmer  and  lighter  yellows,  reds,  or  browns? 

On  the  face  of  it,  therefore,  this  theory  did  not  seem 
tenable.      Modern  artists  universally  reject  it.      They  tell 


380  ESSENTIALS  OF  ^ESTHETICS. 

US  that  the  slightest  spot  of  crimson  against  the  green  of 
a  forest,  or  of  yellow  against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  is  all 
that  is  needed  in  order  to  bring  out  the  brilliancy  of  the 
complementary  coloring;  and  they  point,  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  this,  to  effects  like  those  in  Jules  Breton's  picture 
entitled  "Brittany  Washerwomen,"  at  one  time  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  New  York,  where  a  very  little 
red  in  the  bodice  of  the  central  woman  is  enough  to  put 
fire  and  brightness  into  the  pervading  greenish  blue  tints 
of  the  whole.  What  is  thus  said  of  such  arrangements 
of  colour  is  true.  But  when  it  is  added  that  these  effects 
are  owing  to  merely  a  suggestion  given  to  the  mind,  one 
must  demur.  Those  who  say  it  have  forgotten  a  very 
important  principle  in  aesthetics.  That  is,  that  psycho- 
logical effects  (see  Chapter  II.)  must  harmonise  with 
physiological,  and,  as  the  latter  come  first  in  the  order  of 
time,  it  is  not  logical  either  to  overlook  them  or  to  fail 
to  consider  them  first. 

The  influence  in  a  painting  of  very  slight  quantities  of 
complementary  colouring  seems  to  suggest  the  importance 
of  the  method  of  interpretation  indicated  on  pages  375 
to  378.  If  we  may  suppose  that  a  colour  associated  with 
its  complementary  produces  in  the  e\'e  an  agreeable  effect 
because,  for  the  vibrations  causing  both  colours,  there  is  a 
common  multiple,  then  we  may  also  suppose  that  these 
colours  influence,  at  the  same  time,  the  organs  of  the  same 
retina  without  producing  any  sensation  of  jolting  or  jar- 
ring. All  the  vibrations  are  variations  of  the  same  unity 
in  that  they  are  partial  effects  of  the  same  single  impulse 
or  set  of  impulses,  resulting  in  a  free,  unrestrained  vibra- 
tory thrill  or  glow.  The  quantity  of  colour,  therefore, 
makes  no  difference  with  the  harmony  of  the  effect.  All 
that  is  necessary  is  that  the  form  of  vibration  causing  the 


TONE  IN  COL  OUR.  3  8 1 

one  colour,  be  it  much  or  little,  should  exactly  coalesce 
with  the  form  of  vibration  causing  the  other  colour.  It 
could  coalesce  in  this  way,  of  course,  in  several  different 
circumstances.  First  of  all,  it  could  do  so  when  there 
was  one  predominating  colour. 

To  those  acquainted  with  the  terminology  of  painting, 
the  mention  of  this  effect  recalls  that  which  is  ordinarily 
treated  under  the  designation  of  tone.  Tone  is  a  term 
often  used  as  if  it  means  merely  a  predominating  or 
sometimes  exclusive  employment  of  one  colour  varied 
only  by  the  tints  and  shades  resulting  from  the  effects  of 
different  degrees  of  light  Thus,  in  a  scene  representing 
moonlight  or  twilight,  or  even  a  storm,  especially  if  at 
sea,  there  would  necessarily  be  one  pervading  colour,  in 
some  cases  banishing  almost  the  suggestion  of  other 
colours;  and  such  a  picture  would  be  said  to  be  particu- 
larly characterised  by  to)ic.  For  instance,  in  the  painting 
by  Carl  Marr  in  the  New  York  Museum  entitled  "  Gos- 
sip," almost  every  promiiient  object — the  window-cur- 
tain, the  table-cloth,  the  apron  of  one  of  the  principal 
figures,  the  bodice  of  another,  the  floor,  etc. — is  depicted 
in  white.  On  the  other  hand,  in  Fortuny's  "Spanish 
Lady,"  hanging  near  it,  almost  every  article  of  clothing 
is  depicted  in  black;  while  in  Granet's  "  Monks  in  an 
Oratory,"  a  little  farther  on,  the  colour  of  the  monks' 
robes,  as  well  as  of  the  walls  and  woodwork,  is  all  brown. 
Such  paintings  are  said  to  be  characterised  by  to)ic,  and, 
as  this  (juality  is  usually  understood,  it  is  difficult  to 
perceive  why  it  does  not  fulfil  a  different  law  of  har- 
mony from  that  which  is  fulfilled  through  a  use  of  great 
variety  in  colouring.  Indeed,  it  is  often  represented 
that  it  does ;  as  if  the  theory  that  harmoii)-  of  colouring 
is  pioJuced   by   uniformity   of  colouring    were   antagon- 


382  ESSENTIALS  OF  AiSTI/ETICS. 

istic  to  the  theory  that  it  is  produced  by  variety. 
But  why  cannot  an  identical  law  be  perceived  to  be 
operative  in  both  cases?  Differences  in  tints  and  shades  of 
the  same  hue,  while  they  involve  differences  in  the  inten- 
sity of  the  sight- waves,  do  not  necessarily  involve  differ- 
ences in  their  rates  or  shapes.  Therefore  uniformity  of 
colouring  is  fitted  to  cause  all  the  vibrations  of  the  same 
retina  to  coalesce,  i.  c,  to  cause  all  to  be  exact  subdivi- 
sions of  some  common  multiple.  ]^ut  the  same  effect  is 
produced  by  the  use  of  one  predominating  colour  with  its 
various  tints  and  shades,  enlivened,  as  in  the  case  of 
Jules  Breton's  "Brittany  Washerwomen,"  mentioned  on 
page  380,  by  an  occasional  introduction  of  some  tint  or 
shade  of  its  complementary  colour ;  and  it  is  produced  also 
when  both  complementary  colours  are  used  in  almost 
equal  proportions.  In  fact,  colour-harmony  may  result 
from  the  use  of  any  colours  whatsoever,  if  only  they  can 
be  made  in  some  way  to  produce  in  the  organs  of  colour- 
apprehension  an  effect  of  unity.  This  effect  follows 
whenever  all  the  vibrations  of  the  retina  that  are  near 
together  are  multiples  of  some  common  unit,  as  is  the 
case  when  adjoining  tints  and  shades  in  a  painting  are  of 
the  same  hue,  or  of  hues  that  form  complementaries,  or 
for  some  reason  allied  to  this,  as  indicated  on  pages  370  to 
374,  are  fitted  to  go  together.  If,  in  connection  with  these 
hues,  others  must  be  used  requiring  what  maybe  termed 
conflicting  forms  of  vibration,  these  others  must,  in  the 
painting,  be  remote  from  the  first,  and  be  connected 
with  them  in  accordance  with  methods  of  securing  partial 
consonance  like  those  of  interchange,  gradation,  and 
transition,  described  respectively  on  pages  311,  313,  and 
314.  Why  this  should  be  the  case,  may  be  surmised  by 
recallin<i  that  a  sintjle  vibration    is   to   the  whole   retina 


HARMONY  RESULTING  FROM  UNITY  OF  EFFECT.    383 

about  what  a  single  wave  is  to  an  ocean.  On  an  ocean, 
divergent  forms  of  waves  would  not  be  recognised  to  be 
conflicting  were  they  widely  separated,  or  were  they 
changed  from  one  form  into  another  with  great  gradual- 
ity  ;  and  were  thus  made — to  apply  the  term  of  physiologi- 
cal psychology — to  assimilate.   (See  Appendix,  page  387.) 

The  reader  will  recognise  now  that  the  use  of  gradation 
and  like  methods  in  painting  involves,  just  as  it  does  in 
music,  more  or  less  use  of  all  the  methods  mentioned  in 
the  chart  on  page  277.  Colour-harmony,  to  be  successful, 
must  be  a  result  of  an  application  of  the  same  endeavour 
after  unity  of  effect  which,  starting  with  the  principle  of 
putting  like  with  like  wherever  possible,  leads  to  a  careful 
study  and  embodiment  of  all  such  requirements  as  those 
of  variety,  complement,  principality,  subordination,  bal- 
ance, parallelism,  repetition,  alternation,  symmetry, 
massing,  interchange,  continuity,  consonance,  gradation, 
transition,  and  progress.  This  fact  is  developed  in  the 
author's  "Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line  and  Colour  in 
Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture." 

The  purpose  of  the  present  volume  has  been  to  make 
clear  in  what  sense  aesthetic  art,  when  possessed  of  the 
finest  and  highest  qualities,  from  its  first  conception  in 
the  mind  to  its  last  constructive  touch  in  the  product, 
is  a  result  of  a  man's  imagination  giving  audible  or  vis- 
ible embodiment  to  his  thoughts  or  emotions  by  repre- 
senting them  in  a  form  traceable  to  material  or  human 
nature,  which  form  attracts  him  on  account  of  its  beauty, 
and  is  selected  and  elaborated  by  him  into  an  artistic 
product  in  accordance  with  the  imaginative  exercise  of 
comparison  or  of  association,  modified,  when  necessary, 
so  as  to  meet  the  requirements  of  factors  which  can  be 
compared  or  associated  in  only  a  partial  degree.      Those 


384  ESSENTIALS  OF yESn/ETICS. 

acquainted  with  recent  developments  in  art  will  recognise 
that  this  conception  of  it  is  essentially  different  from  the 
one  most  generally  accepted  in  our  own  times.  We  are 
constantly  hearing  it  asserted  that,  if  anything  portrayed 
in  art  be  "true  to  nature,"  this  fact  is  a  sufficient  warrant 
for  its  reproduction — in  plays  or  pictures,  for  instance — as 
well  as  a  trustworthy  test  of  its  excellence.  In  connection 
with  this  assertion,  those  who  —  mainly,  as  is  supposed,  for 
moral  reasons — object  to  some  of  the  practical  results  of 
applying  the  theory  involved  in  it  are  usually  represented 
to  be  victims  of  ignorance  or  bias  which  they  would  not 
manifest  had  they  been  sufficiently  cultivated  aesthetically. 
According  to  the  conclusions  reached  in  this  volume,  no- 
thing could  be  more  at  variance  with  the  truth  than  such 
assertions  and  representations.  Our  whole  argument  tends 
to  show  that  the  mere  fact  that  effects  are  "  true  to  nature  " 
by  no  means  justifies  their  use  in  art  of  high  quality. 
They  can  be  used  in  this  so  far  only  as,  in  the  first  place, 
they  are  in  themselves  beautiful,  and,  in  the  second  place, 
are,  aside  from  themselves,  suggestive,  or  capable  of  being 
made  suggestive,  of  the  artist's  thought  and  feeling.  Ugli- 
ness and  vileness  are  never  beautiful  in  themseKcs,  though, 
at  times,  some  feature  manifesting  them  may  enhance,  b\' 
way  of  contrast,  the  beauty  of  some  other  feature  which 
they  are  introduced  in  order  to  offset.  When  they  form 
the  sole  theme  of  paintings,  statues,  novels,  or  dramas,  as, 
unfortunately,  is  the  case  in  many  products  of  many  men 
greatly  praised  in  our  own  time — their  names  need  not 
be  mentioned, — the  result  is  op}:)osed  to  the  first  principles 
of  .xsthctics  still  more  than  of  etliics. 

Again,  according  to  the  theory  presented  in  this  book, 
effects,  though  beautiful  in  nature,  are  wrongly   used   in 


EXPRESSIVENESS    OF    ART.  385 

the  highest  art,  if  they  be  used  on  the  supposition  that, 
even  in  their  most  insignificant  features,  they  are  not 
vehicles  of  expression.  A  painting  ranks  higher  than  a 
pliotograph  and  a  play  than  a  phonograph  mainly  because 
one  can  read  the  thought,  share  the  emotion,  and  sym- 
pathise with  the  purpose  behind  not  only  its  general  con- 
ception but  every  minutest  part — every  line  or  word — 
through  which  the  conception  is  presented.  It  is  illogical 
to  argue  that  this  fact  does  not  rule  out  of  the  domain  of 
high  art  a  very  large  proportion  of  what  artists  and  critics 
of  less  delicate  aesthetic  sensibility — not  to  say  sense — 
fancy  that  some  cannot  stomach  merely  because  they  have 
no  artistic  taste.  A  friend  of  mine  once  met,  on  a  Pacific 
steamship,  a  Japanese  fresh  from  his  own  country  who 
represented  himself  as  greatly  shocked  by  some  framed 
photographs  of  European  works  of  art  of  excessi\-e  dis- 
robement  which  he  had  observed  hanging  in  the  Captain's 
cabin.  "Why?" — said  my  friend  to  him.  "It  is  only 
what  one  can  see  almost  every  day  in  the  life  of  your  own 
land."  "We  have  it  in  life,"  replied  the  Japanese,  "but 
we  don't  thrust  it  upon  attention,  and,  by  elaborating  it 
in  our  art,  make  a  public  confession  of  how  much  wc  have 
been  thinking  and  feeling  about  it."  It  is  well  to  observe 
that  this  representative  of  the  most  artistic  of  living  races 
was  not  influenced  by  ethics  but  by  aesthetics, — b}-  the 
requirements  merely  of  delicate  instinct  and  good  taste. 

When  these  requirements  are  carried  out,  the  work  of 
art  cannot,  as  a  rule,  be  other  than  an  embodiment  of 
beauty.  Because  it  is  this,  and  because  the  artist  recognises 
also  that  he  is  rex'caling  liimself  in  it,  and  desires  to  make 
his  revelations  worthy  ones,  it  will  also,  as  a  rule,  be 
beneficent   in  expression,  exerting  an  influence  tending  to 


3 86  ESSEN TIA LS  OF  AtS THE  TICS. 

enlighten,  to  inspire,  and,  as  Aristotle  puts  it  when  describ- 
ing the  aim  of  the  drama,  to  "  purify  "  mind  and  heart.  It 
is  gratifying  to  the  author  to  be  able  thus  in  closing  to 
point  out  that  the  conception  of  art  and  of  its  mission 
presented  in  this  volume  is  one — and,  probably,  the  only 
one — which  can  logically  be  made  to  harmonise  with  all 
those  conceptions  of  right  thinking  and  right  living  which, 
when  applied  to  practice,  have  proved  to  be  the  most 
eiTective  in  promoting  human  welfare. 


APPENDIX 

Beauty  According  to  Physiological  Psychology. 

THE  following  criticism  on  a  paper  read  before  the  Princeton  Philo- 
sophic Club  was  made  by  my  colleague.  Prof.  J.  Mark  Baldwin, 
and  afterwards,  at  my  request,  put  into  writing.  Coming,  as  it 
does,  from  one  who  has  made  a  special  study  of  physiological  psychology, 
anil  who  has  no  interest  in  maintaining  the  particular  theory  of  beauty 
advocated  in  this  volume,  the  reader  will  recognize  that  it  is  a  better  con- 
firmation of  the  essential  agreement  between  this  theory  and  the  results  of 
modern  investigations  than  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  present  in  my 
own  language. 

"  Psychology  seems  to  be  tending  to  a  view  of  art  which  emphasizes  the 
subjective  or  emotional  side  of  what  we  call  esthetic.  Considering  pleasure 
the  most  general  element  in  aesthetic  experience,  we  may  bring  the  topic 
under  the  head  of  Hedonics,  and  ask  what  are  the  marks  of  objects,  situa- 
tions, ideas,  which  make  them  suitable  for  arousing  in  us  the  particular 
kind  of  hedonic  experience  called  a'sthelic,  /.  f. ,  what  constitutes  beauty? 

"  Experiments  on  sensation-stales — especially  on  the  apprehension  of 
visual  forms — result  in  showing  that  wlierever  there  is  union  of  elements 
readily  and  easily  l)rought  about,  wherever  integration  is  affected  without 
strain  to  the  organ  stimulated,  at  the  same  time  that  the  elements  preserve 
their  individuality  in  a  measure,  we  experience  pleasure.  In  perception,  a 
similar  principle  is  found,  known  as  assimilation — to  which  current  psycho- 
logical analysis  is  reducing  the  old  laws  of  association.  When  a  new  expe- 
rience is  assimilated  readily  to  old  categories — fits  into  the  ready  moulds  of 
experience,  thought,  or  conception,  then  we  invariably  experience  pleasure 
—  not  the  pleasure  of  pure  identity,  Imt  of  progressive  idenlity^ — of  a.  process 
in  consciousness.  In  (he  higlier  spheres  we  find  tlie  same  fundamental 
mcivemeiit.  Conception  is  a  process  by  which  detached  elements  are  ar- 
ranged, brought  to  unity,  sorted  out,  assimilated  ;  an  argument  is  such  a 
scheme  of  notions,  which  go  together  without  stiain  or  confliit  ;  and  a  beau- 
tiful charactir  is  one  whose  acts  of  will  are  consistent  with  one  another  and 
get  assimilated  readily  in  an  ideal  of  tluty. 

"  Now  I  think  the  essential  thing  in  it  all — in  sensational  ease,  in  assimi- 
lation,  in   logical   consistency — is  this  :    does   the   attention   with    both    its 


2  88  APPENDIX 

intellectual  and  its  nervous  processes  move  easily  ? — that  is,  is  the  psycho- 
physical process  impeded  or  advanced?  If  the  latter,  then  pleasure  ;  and 
aesthetic  pleasure — just  in  proportion  as  the  processes  to  which  the  attention 
ministers  all  tend  together  to  give  the  best  sense  or  emotion  of  accommo- 
dation. 

"  The  older  criteria  of  beauty  can  be  accounted  for  on  this  view  :  unity 
in  variety,  adaptation,  association,  meaning  or  expressiveness.  And  it 
tends  to  ])ut  an  end  to  the  lasting  contro\  ersy  between  '  form '  and  '  mean- 
ing.' For  Wundt's  facts  showing  that  visual  beauty  of  form  is  due  to  ease 
of  eye-movements,  and  Zeising's  '  golden  section,'  aiid  Bain's  '  associations 
of  utility,'  and  the  '  teleological  judgments  '  of  the  intellectualists,  and  the 
'  moral  worths  of  the  ethical  idealists,  as  well  as  the  '  real  beauty  in 
objects'  of  the  realists — all  these  get  their  due,  as  far  as  their  psychology  is 
concerned,  in  some  such  formula  as  thi>  :  the  sense  of  beauty  is  an  emotional 
state  arising  from  progressive  psycho-physical  accommodation  to  mental  ob- 
jects. Of  course  the  metaphysics  of  beauty  and  art  is  not  touched  by  this  ;  and 
it  does  not  prejudice  full  metaphysical  treatment." — (Wundt,  "  Physiolo- 
gische  Psychologic,"  4th  ed. ;  Ward,  art.  "  Psychology,"  in  "  Encyc.  Brittan.," 
9th  ed.  ;  Lotze,  "  Outlines  of  vKsthetics"  ;  Marshall,  arts,  on  "  The  Field  of 
Esthetics  Psychologically  Considered  "  in  "Mind,"iSg2  ;  Baldwin,"  Hand- 
book of  Psychology,"  vol.  ii.,  chaps,  on  "  Pleasure  and  Pain  "  and  "  Emo- 
tions of  Relation,"  also  arts,  on  "Psychology"  and  "Sentiment,"  in 
preparation  for  "  Johnson's  Universal  Cyclopredia,"  new  edition,  1893.) 

With  reference  to  this  subject,  it  will  be  noticed  that,  \\hile  there  is  a 
general  accord,  and  no  conflict  whatever,  between  the  opinions  tluis  briefly 
epitomized  and  the  view  of  beauty  presented  in  this  volume,  nevertheless  the 
two  are  not  identical  ;  although  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  latter  may  be 
supposed  to  be  merely  supplementary  of  the  former,  and  not  outside  the 
range  of  that  for  wliich  provision  is  made  as  by  Professor  Baldwin  in  the 
last  sentences  of  each  of  his  last  two  paragraphs.  The  differences  of  view, 
so  far  as  they  exist,  can  be  brought  out  best,  perhaps,  by  means  of  an 
illustration. 

If  we  drop  a  perfectly  round  stone  into  a  perfectly  quiet  pool,  all  the 
commotion  that  is  caused,  from  the  large  waves  immediately  encircling  the 
point  of  contact  off  tt)  t'ne  minutest  \\aves  upon  the  most  distant  circum- 
ference, wii!  be  mo\ed  as  l)y  one  effect  or  kind  of  effect  ;  in  other  words,  they 
will  sustain  a  certain  proportion  to  one  another  and,  relatively  considered, 
each  to  its  nearest  neighbor,  the  same  proportion  ;  or  if  we  strike  a  perfectly 
constructed  bell,  the  same  will  be  true  of  the  sound-waves  encircling  it. 
This  Condition  represents  a  kind  of  assimilation  that  can  be  rightly  com- 
pared lo  that  which  takes   place  iii   conneciioa   with  effects   conveying  the 


BEAUTY. 


589 


impression  of  beauty.  But  if  the  stone  or  the  bell  be  very  irregularly  shaped, 
the  ensuing  waves,  in  either  case,  will  appear  to  be  moved  by  more  than  one 
effect  or  kind  of  effect  ;  and,  as  a  result,  their  influence  upon  the  eye  or  ear 
will  be  inharmonious.  The  same  result  will  follow  still  more  decidedly  if, 
near  the  first  stone,  a  second,  causing  opposing  effects  upon  the  eye,  be 
dropped  into  the  pool  ;  or  if,  at  the  same  time  with  the  first  bell,  a  second 
causing  opposing  effects  upon  the  ear  be  struck.  This  condition,  in  a  way 
to  be  indicated  presently,  represents  the  possibility  of  a  kind  of  assimila- 
tion which  can  take  place  without  likeness  to  that  which  distinguishes 
beauty. 

In  nature,  opposing  effects,  like  differently  produced  waves  on  a  pool,  can 
often  be  seen  to  assimilate  ;  and  we  have  a  certain  interest  in  watching  the 
result.  So  with  the  sense  of  accommodation,  the  one  to  the  other,  and,  by 
consequence,  of  progressive  identity  of  the  different  stages  of  logical  pro- 
cesses. 15ut  notice  that  in  these  it  is  necessary  only  that  two  or  more  very 
nearly  connected  conceptions  should  assimilate,  whereas  in  beauty — as 
will  be  recognized  upon  recalling  the  conditions  underlying  rhythm,  versi- 
fication, musical  harmony,  proportion,  collected  outlines  of  columns,  arches, 
windows,  roofs,  even  the  tones  of  a  single  scale  or  the  colors  of  a  single 
painting, — it  is  necessary  that  whole  series  and  accumulations  of  effects 
should  assimilate  ;  tliat,  so  far  as  possible,  everything  presented  should 
seem  to  be  the  result  of  putting  like  effects  (not  necessarily  like  forms — see 
page  30)  witii  like.  This  requirement  of  beauty  appears  to  be  met  by  saying 
that,  in  it,  the  amount  of  assimilation  is  increased, — that  it  results  in  the 
degree  in  which  the  processes  to  \\liich  attention  ministers  all  tend  together 
to  give  this  sense  of  accommodation.  But  even  this  statement  seems  insuf- 
ficient. In  the  degree  iu  which  pleasure  of  any  kind  whatever  [)rcdominates, 
the  consciousness  of  opposing  effects  must  be  subordinated  to  that  of  assimi- 
lation. Distinctively  ;estl:etic  pleasures  differ  from  those  afforded  by  lo'dcal 
connectiijn,  or  by  mere  sensaiional  ease  or  assimilation  not  only  in  tb.e  relative 
amount  of  likeness  in  them,  but  also  in  the  relative  c<jmpre]ien>iveness  of  tiiis. 
There  may  be  physical  jjleasure  in  wliieh  there  is  little  or  no  conqilexity, 
and  therefore  no  assimilation  between  effects  from  sources  essentially  differ- 
ent, such,  for  instance,  as  effects  that  appeal  to  tiie  senses  and  tlmse  that 
appeal  to  the  mir.d  ;  ami  t:ie  same  is  true  (;f  mental  [)K:asure  ;  and  in  both 
forms  of  pleasure,  because  of  grer.ter  narrov.ness  of  excitation,  there 
may  be  more  intensity — more,  that  is,  which  induces  to  thrill  and  rapture, 
tears  and  laughter — than  in  ujsthetic  |)leasLiie.  A  ])ers<:n  is  more  apt  to 
become  hilarious  when  being  tickled  or  when  heaiin;.;  good  news  from 
the  stock  market,  than  when  reading  Shakespeare.  liut  the  peculiarity 
of  aesthetic  pleasures  is  tiiat  while  they  lose  in  intensity  they  gain,  as  a  rule, 


39<^  APPENDIX 

in  breadth.  The  latter  effect  follows  not  only  from  the  relative  amount  of 
likeness  in  them  ;  but  still  more  from  the  range  and  different  qualities  of  the 
sources  of  this.  In  their  most  complete  phases,  as  has  been  shown,  aesthetic 
pleasures  blend  the  results  of  that  which  is  most  important  in  both  physical 
and  mental  stimulus,  widening  one's  outlook  and  sympathies  especially  in 
the  direction — for  this  is  distinctive  in  them — of  enaljliiig  imagination  to  per- 
ceive subtle  correspondences  between  things  material  and  spiritual  which 
otherwise  might  not  reveal  their  essential  unity.  The  fact  is,  as  pointed  out 
on  page  i6o,  that  the  effects  of  beauty  are  satisfactory  in  the  degree  in  which 
they  are  felt  to  accord  with  every  possible  influence  exerted  at  the  time  when 
they  are  experienced.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  so  far  as  they  result  from 
vibrations,  or  in  connection  with  vibrations,  some  of  these  are  beyond  the 
circumference  of  conscious  experience  ;  but  all  of  them,  nevertheless,  like 
the  minutest  and  most  distant  waves  upon  a  pon],  moved  as  in  our  first  illus- 
tration, seem  at  the  time  to  be  proportional  parts  of  a  universal  rhythm. 
Often,  in  fact,  they  seem  to  l)e,  and  possibly,  to  an  extent,  they  always  are, 
parts  of  that  larger  rliythm  which,  coming  down  through  life  and  death, 
winter  and  summer,  waking  and  sleeping,  inhalation  and  exhalation,  pulse- 
throb  and  stillness,  extend  back  through  the  alternating  effects  of  metre  and 
proportion,  tone  and  hue,  to  others  of  a  nature  almost  infinitely  subtle,  but 
which  are  just  as  necessary  to  the  life  of  the  spirit  as  the  beat  of  the  heart 
to  that  of  the  body.  To  this  conception  of  beauty  the  idea  of  sensational 
ease  or  assimilation  is  necessary  as  an  accompanying  effect  ;  but  it  is  a  ques- 
tion whether,  considered  even  as  a  point  of  departure  for  development,  tiie 
idea  mchides  all  that  is  in  the  germ,  or  in  that  part  of  it  which  most  clearly 
reveals  the  originating  cause.  One  could  not  be  conscious  of  the  thrills  of 
pleasure  connected  with  doing  a  deed  of  disinterested  kindness,  were  it  not 
for  unimpeded  processes  in  the  circulatory  systems  of  his  physical  organism. 
But  these  do  not  account  for  all  the  effects  entering  into  such  an  experience 
or  possible  to  it,  even  if,  as  at  times  in  tiie  presence  of  beauty,  it  awaken  a 
sense  of  nothing  not  distinctly  physical.  A  cause  to  be  satisfying  must  be 
capable  of  accounting  for  all  the  facts.  Can  this  be  affirmed  of  the  pro- 
cesses that  have  been  mentioned  ?  Are  they  not  rather  effects  accompanying 
others  which,  in  connection  with  these,  are  attributable  to  something 
deeper  in  essence  and  more  comprehensive  in  applicability  ? 


INDEX. 


A 


Abruptness,  art -method,  277, 
312-316 

.■Encid,  117,  188 

Aerial,  perspective,  92,  93,   262 

Esthetic  arts,  6;  aim  of,  39,  40; 
pleasure  in,  389,  390;  princi- 
ples coincide  with  those  of 
ethics,  384, 385  ;  use  of  term,  iv 

After-image  in  colour,  371 

Aim,  the  mental,  represented  in 
pitch,   199 

Allegorical  painting,   166,   168 

Alliteration,  279,  365 

Alteration,  art -method,  277,  303 

Alternation,     art-method,     222, 

303 
Alum  Bay,  Talfourd,   162 
American  Journal  of  Psychology, 

323 

Analogy  between  representation 
in  sound  and  sight,  214;  in 
work  of  the  artist,  56,  65,  67. 
See  Comparison  and  Iinagina- 
tion 

Ananias,  Death  of,  Raphael,  233 

Ancient  Art,  History  oj,  Winck- 
elmann,   183 

Ancic}tt  Mariner,  The,  Cole- 
ridge, 29 

Angelf),  Michael,  72,94  (^7,  181, 
188.   224 

Angles.  Tiieaning  of,  244  252. 
.S'fc  ( )ut lines 

A)niU(il  Kcgisltr,  46 

Ai)oi]o   Belvedere,    1  70 

Architecture  B_\-zantinc.  251. 
252;  elements  of  e.\])ressii)n 
in,   213-268;  Gothic,   31,    10 1, 


219,  251-253,317,318;  Greek, 
101-108,  219,  251-253;  imita- 
tion in,  15,  97-100;  in\-olves 
an  external  product,  15  ;  Moor- 
ish. 31;  perspective  in,  loi- 
108,  T,2i5'-  phase  of  conscious- 
ness represented  in,  145-149; 
progress  represented  in,  318; 
proportion  in,  335,  340-344, 
355;  related  to  scenery,  31; 
Renaissance,  31;  representa- 
tion in,  99.  124-129,  252; 
representation  in,  272,  279; 
separated  from  painting  and 
sculpture,  172  174;  styles,  76, 
77;  thought  expressed  in,  15, 
124-129 

Ariadne,    171 

Aristotle,   34,    294 

Arm  gestures,  meaning  of,  230, 
232,    240-243 

Arnold,   M..    212 

Art,  a  method,  2;  fine,  5,  6,  16; 
modern  Iledonic,  view  of, 
387,  388;  nature  made  liuman, 
4,  10;  not  communication, 
109-129;  not  imitation,  76- 
108;  versus  religion,  48-51; 
versus  science,  51-57 

Art   Of    I'ainli>ii;,    Re\'nolds,    52 

305 

Art-impulse,   3()    55 

Art  in   'I'heory.  30 

Art.  its  La7es  a)ul  the  I\i-asons  jor 
IJiem.  Long,  i8(),  250,  ^05 

.\rtist,  60.  i:;7  140;  his  mental 
action  \-ersus  that  in  religion 
or  science,  y)  ^i^:  his  temper- 
ament, 57  62;  hf)W  far  he 
thinks  <jf  both  form  and  signi- 


391 


39^ 


INDEX. 


Artist — CniUituicd 

finance   when   composin.^,    75: 

hi)\v     far    his    tendencies    are 

eulti\'ate(l,  62-67 
.Vrtistie.  its  distineti\'e  tendeney 

in    art.     178    iSo;    \-ersns    the 

rehgioiis,     4S-51;    \-ersus    the 

scientifii-',   52  -58 
Artlessness,   2 
Aspirate  tone.  206-2 1 2  ;  analogue 

in    cfjlour,    255,    263-267 
A.ssimilation    in   mental    effects 

of    art   as    related   to    mental 

pleasure,   319.   365,  383,   387- 

390 
Association   and   comparison   at 

the  basis  of  art-etTects,  27-31, 

35'    J^C),    147.    15O'    197'    ^^>^- 
20(),    211,   220,    244,    26(),  270, 
278 
Assonance  in  poetry,  2  7(),  365 
Austrian  XatioiuU  Hymn,  20,  21 


B 


Balance,  art-method  of,  277, 
2S3,    2S5-2g4.   302,   305 

Baptistry  of  Florence,  98 

Baryc,  97 

Baudelaire,  C,  74 

Ba\-aria,  Statue  of,   189 

Bcaii,  Lcs  Pri>icipcs  de  la 
Scioicc  dn,  Chaignet,  183 

Beautiful,  The,  179-184;  Essay 
on  tJic  Sublime  and  the  Bcanti- 
jul,  Burke,  181 

Beauty,  16-37;  according  to 
physiologicalpsychology,  387- 
390;  complete,  18;  com])!ex, 
21-32;  cur\-c,  the  line  of,  332, 
354;  definition  of,  32  37; 
de]iendent  on  form,  18  22; 
dependent  on  thought  or 
feeling  expressed,  iS,  20,  24- 
32.  215,  216;  essential  in  nat- 
ural f)1)jects  tc;  be  re])roduced 
in  art,  384  386;  harmony  an 
element  of.  22-32,  38(),  3()o;  in 
colours,  lines,  sounds,   21-23; 


in    human    faces,    349,    350' 
theories  concerning,  34-36 

Beaux-Arts,   17.  3() 

Beccher,  II.  W.,  65 

Beethoven,  64,  77.  81,  139,  208, 

Beggar  l^oys.  Murillo.  192 
Beverley  Alinster,   266 
Binocular  vision,  350,  351 
lUoiiraphia  Litcraria,  I'oleridge. 

45 
Black,    253-255,    264-268.      See 

Colours 
Blair,  Rhetoric,  185 
Blake,  95 

Blanc,  C.  224.  248.  307,  371 
Blind  Tom,  47 

"  Bloody  Mary"  architecture,  76 
Blue,    254,    255-258,    261,    283, 

368-377,  with  black  or  wliite, 

261,  263-265.  267.  5tv  Colours 
Bolt<m,  T.  L.,  323 
Boroui^Ii.   The.  Crabbe,    189 
Bos,   Abbe   du,    17 
Bougereavi,  89 
Brain,        determining        mental 

power,    63 
Breadth,    art-method     of,    304- 

306,  312 
Breton,  Jules,  89,  90,  259,   ^■,?>o, 

Hrie'je  u'oer  die  eeslluiisehe  Er- 
zieliuiiii  des  Menseheji,  Schiller, 
40 

Brilliant,  The,   179,  1S2-185 

Brown,  (t.   B..  40 

Browning,  R..  56,  135,  191  i()8, 
211.  314;  obscurity  of,  56 

Building  enclosed  by  circles,  354 

Bulwer,  14 

Burke,   E.,   181 

Burning    of     Borgo,      Raphael, 

193 
Burns,  189 
Byron,    154 
/■/v    the    .\\>rth    Sea,    Swinbvirnc, 

3 '4 
Bvzantine      architecture,      251, 
252 


INDEX. 


393 


Cabanel,  89 

Cccsar,  Julius,  Shakespeare,  211, 
232,  271 

Campbell,  iSq,  204 

Canterbury  Talcs,  189 

Caravaggio,  122,  123,  102 

Card  Players,  Caravaggio,  112, 
122,   123,   192 

Carh'le,  obscvirity  of,  56 

Cathedral,  Cologne,  226;  eolours 
appropriate  in,  261,  262 

Cave  of  Elephanta,  99 

Central-Point,  277,  299-301,  304 

Chaignet,   183 

Character  manifested  uncon- 
sciously   and   subconsciously. 

Chase,  93 

Chateavi  de  Randau,  343 

('haucer,   189 

Chiaroscuro,   305 

Chiefs'  houses,  Australia,  100 

Children,  artistic  tendencies  of, 

55.  59.  60  .       ,  , 

Chords,  musical,  determmed  by 
partial  tones,  361-365 

Christian  versus  artistic  ten- 
dencies. 49,  50 

Classification  in  art-composi- 
tion, 272-280,  282-285 

Claude,    121 

Climax,  304 

Closing   gesture,    235-239 

Clothing,  proportions  in  human, 
344-346 

Cloud,  The,  Shelley,  191 

Cobiirn,  46,  47 

Cold  colours,  254,  255,  261,  264- 
268,  ^69.     See  Colours 

(\)le,    168 

Coleridge,   2(),   45 

Cologne   Cathedral,   226 

Colours,  .'inalogucs  with  tones, 
254  268;  beautiful  when  com- 
y)iex,  22,  23;  coniplcMnentary 
or  conl  rast  ing.  256,  3(')()  383; 
dark,    light,    higii,    full,    pak', 


broken,  warm,  cold,  primary, 
secondary,  shades,  tints,  etc., 
85,  86,  368,  369;  derived  from 
pigments,  370;  derived  from 
sunlight,  367-370;  harmony 
of,  23  -25,  367-383;  history 
of  liarmony-de\'elopment  of, 
379-383;  meaning  of,  73,  85- 
95,  253-268;  two  or  more, 
fitly  going  together,  373,  374; 
variety  and  imity  of  colour 
involve  the  same  principle, 
381,  383  ;  values  in,  85,  86,  88, 
89;  what  is  tone  in,  381 

Comin'  thro'  the  Rve.  82 

Communication  not  the  aim  of 
art,  109-129 

Comparison  at  the  basis  of  art, 
146,  147,  150,  156,  157,  270- 
272,  276,  277,  279,  312,  333. 
See  Like  with  Like 

Complement,  art-method  of,  277, 

283,  286,  287,  298 
Complementary    or    contrasting 

colours,    256,    369-383 
Complexity  in  beautiful  effects, 

21-32,  244,  246,  277,  283 
Complication,     art-method     of, 
^  277,  304,  306,  307,  308 
Composition  in  art,  11-14,  269- 

319 
Comprehensiveness,   art-method 

of,  277,  297,  298 
Confusion,    art -method   of,    277, 

284,  285,  3  I  [ 

Congruity,  art-metliod  of,  277, 
297-299,   310,   311 

Conscience,  37 

Conscious  versus  unconscious 
mental  action,  44  56;  in- 
fluence of  each  on  art,  39    58, 

•34;    13').    177-103 
C'onscioiisness,     ])h;ises      of,      as 

re])resented   in    iliiTerent   arts, 

141     ij(> 
Consonance-,  ,-irl-method  of,  277. 

3  10    314.      ,SV('  I  lannony 
Continuity,  art-method  of,  277, 

304.  307    309 


394 


INDEX. 


Conlnist,  C(insccuti\'e,  in  colour, 
,:;7 1  y,}, ;  in  art,  i5(),  157,  277, 
jSj  284;  in  drawinsj;,  3;  in 
nature,  2S2-2S4;  in  paint- 
ing, i5(),  157,  256;  simultane- 
ous, 371-373-  -^t't'  Comple- 
mentary and  Variety 

Coriolanns,  Shakespeare,  184 

Corot,  8,  8(),  ()5 

Corret^gio,  89,  2 go,  305 

Coiicr's  Saturday  Xiglii,  Tlie, 
Burns,   189 

Counteraction,  art-method  of, 
277,  286.  287 

Costumes  related  to  proportion, 
346 

Crabbe,  163,  189 

Crane,    \V.,    19,    221,    223,    247. 

249 
"  Crazy  Jane  "  architecture,  76 
Creation,  The,  llayden,  11)9 
Creative,  The,  in  art-,  4,  132-134 
Criticism,   Essay   o>i,    Pope,    30, 

i()9 
Cultix'ated  taste,   37 
Cur\'es,  in  nature.  244-252,  353, 

354;  lines  of  beauty,  252-253; 

meanings  of,  in  gesture,  nature, 

and    architecture,    234,    240- 


D 


Daubigny,  93,  95 

Dallas,  E.  S.,  66 

Dante,  50,  75,  76,  1 1  7 

David,    8 

Davis,   T.,    204 

l\iy  Dream,  .1,  Tennyson,  117 

Pay    is   I)o}ic,   The.    Longfellow, 

152 
Death  of  Ananias,  Raphael,  193, 

2, -1,5 

Decamps,  93 

Decline  of  t'arthage,  The.  Tur- 
ner, 309 

Defeat  "of   Attila.    Raphael,    193 

nei^eiieraey.    Xordau,    74 

Delacroix,   85,    :;7i 


Delaroche,  166 

De   Aledici,  Tomb  of,   96 

Descent  from  the  Cross,  Frontis- 
piece. Rubens 

Description,  in  poetry,  151-154, 
158-165;  in  that  of  Homer, 
15S,  159 

Deserted  \'illage.  The,  Gold- 
smith, 189 

PesJi^)!,  Lectures  on,  Opie,  165 

Detail  in  drawing,  3 

Detaille,  93 

Diaz,  95 

Dignity  of  effect,  in  architecture, 
293,  302;  in  sculpture,  172 

Dissonance,  art-method  of,  277, 

Distance,  in  architecture,  loi- 
108;  in  colour,  89-93,  263;  in 
drawing  of  size,  light,  con- 
trast, and  detail,  3;  in  line, 
89  -92,  93,  94;  represented  by 
size,  21S-222 

Do)t  Juan,  opera,  208 

Dou,   89 

Dresden  Gallery,  121 

Duration  or  time  in  music  and 
]ioetry,    197,    198 

Dutch    School,     190 

D wight,  J.  S.,  114 


Eckermann,  372 

Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts,  17 

Education,    effects    of,    on     the 

artist,  62-67 
Edwards,  Miss.   2 88 
Effects     of     distance     on     size, 

light,   contrast,  and  detail  in 

drawing,  3 
Eles,y  in  a  Couiiiry  Churchyard, 

A)i,   19S 
Elliptical     shape,     of     field     of 

vision,  351  ;  of  \'ases,  354,  '-i^', '. 

in  the  liuman  form,  355-357; 

why  usual  in  works  of  art  and 

of  beauty,  352-357 


INDEX. 


395 


Elocution,  relation  of,  to  other 
arts,  10,  II,  13;  to  expression 
in  music  and  poetry,  196-212  ; 
in  painting,  sculpture,  and 
architecture,  196,  213-268 

Elephanta,  Cave  of,  99 

Emotion,  artistic,  causes  of,  55- 
57,  60;  exerted  in  imagina- 
tion, 55-60;  its  influence  upon 
music  and  other  arts,  113- 
115,  135-140,  143,  147-150 

Energy  as  represented,  by  lines, 
222-225;  by   tones,    198,    199 

Entablature,   102 

Epic,  The,  185-1S9,  194 

Essay    011    Criticism,    Pope,    30, 

199 

Ethics,  principles  coincide  with 
those   of   aesthetics,    384,    385 

Excursion,  Tlie,  Wordsworth, 
160-162,  189 

Expression,  beauty  in,  18,  20, 
24-32;  foments  of,  in  arts 
of  sight,  213-268;  in  arts  of 
sound,  195-212;  its  character 
in  art,  132,  133;  its  represent- 
ative effect,  50,  51,  78.  >(•(' 
Significance,  Thought,  and 
Representative 

Expressional  factors  emphasised 
in  art,    131-133 

Extension  or  size,  how  repre- 
sentative in  art,  214-222 

External  product,  the  highest 
art  involves  an,  10-15 


Face,  human,  different  styles  of 
beauty  in,  18,  20,  3  4(),  350; 
Greek  type  of,  349,  350;  pro- 
portions of,  345-350 

Facial  expression,  228  -229 

I-'acrie  (Jnccn,  The,  189,  211 

h'arnese  Hercules,  215 

h'anst,   209 

I'Y'eling  as  represented,  in  art, 
55-57,  60,  135  140,  14^,  147- 
150;  in  music,    112-115,    143, 


147-150.     See    Emotion    a)id 

Imagination 
Feet  in  poetic  measures,  326,  327 
Fergusson,   173 
Ferdinando  and  Elvira,  Gilbert, 

199 
I'ield-theory  of  colour  harmony. 

Figurative  language  in  poetry, 
52,  53.  55.  5'''.  83,  84,  III, 
115,  118,  144,  150-154 

Fine  arts,  5,  6 

Finger  gesture,  234 

Fist  gesture,  234 

Flaubert,  74 

Florence  Baptistry,  172 

Fontainel  )leau-Barbizon  school 
of  art,  93 

Force,  43;  in  arts,  of  sight,  222- 
225;  of  sound,  i()7-i()9;  life- 
force,    43,    44 

Form,  devek)pment  of,  124,  126; 
expression  through  human, 
228-244;  in  art,  6,  7,  17,  18, 
20,  6()-78;  ^)ro])ortions  of 
human,  344,  345,  355^35"^! 
re])resentative  elements  of, 
in  arts  of  sight,  213  268;  in 
arts  of  sound,  195-212;  ver- 
sus significant'e,    68-78 

Fortuny,  86,  Si).  381 

Foster,   Dr.  M .,  350 

Fromentin,  93.  ()5 

Fuseli,  186,  190,  193 


Gautier,  T.,   74 
day  Science,  The,  Dallas,  66 
(je'nesisoj  .\rl-l-orm,  77;«',  33.  276 
Genius,   60,   64    67,    138    140 
(i('T(')me,    41,    89,    ii)i,    2()o.    2()i 
Gesture,    70.    i()6;   as   related    to 
re])resentation  in  arts  ol  sight, 
2  13,   2 -'7    244;  torms  of,   242  - 
24  1 ;  meanings  ol,  227-242 
GhibiTti,  ()8 
Gilliert,    199 


396 


INDEX. 


Girlhood  of  the  Virgin  Mary 
Rossetti.  71 

Giuliano  de'  Medici,  Tomb  of, 
()6,    224 

Gladiator,  The  Dying,  103 

Goethe,   8,   57,   67,   75,    i^g,  372 

Goldsmith,    189 

Good,  The,  in  art,   179,   180 

Goodyear,    loi,    103 

Gossip,  C.  Marr,   86,  381 

Gothic  architecture,  31,  219,279; 
gradation  in,  317,  318;  per- 
spective in,  10 1  ;  progress  in, 
318;  proportions  in,  219,  340; 
representation  in,  99,  126, 
127,  251-253 

Gounod,  209 

Gradation,  art-method.  277,312- 

Grammar   of   Painting   and   En- 
^  graving,  224,  248,  307 

Grand,  The,  in  art,  179,  184,  185 

Granet,  87    381 

Grant,  150 

Gray.  198,  212 

Greece,   7 

Greek,  architecture,  251-253, 
279;  perspective  in,  ioi-io8, 
335;  proportion  in,  219,  333- 
340;  temples,  219;  representa- 
tion in,  ()8;  variations  in  mea- 
surements of,  103-108 

Green,  254,  256,  261,  365-368, 
377;  with  black  or  white,  264, 
265,  268.      Sec  Colours 

Gregorian  Chant,  202 

Guido,  8 

Guttural  tone,  206-212;  ana- 
logue in  colour,  255,  263,  264, 
265 

II 

Hals,  89 

Hamlet,  184,  304 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.,  iSi 

Hand  gestures,  meanings  of, 
230-243;  place  where  made, 
230-232  ;  shape  of,  232-242 

Handbiich  dcr  Kanstgeschichlc, 
192 


Handel,  81,  208 

Hands,  peculiar  to  man,  9,  10; 
at  basis  of  art-expression,  9, 
10,  196 

Harmonious  effects,  correspond 
in  colour  and  music,  375-378; 
in  beauty,  22-32,  389-390; 
on  the  inind,  30-32 

Harmony,  as  an  element  of 
beauty,  22-32,  389,  390;  in 
colour  depends  on  physical 
action  of  the  eye,  374-383; 
in  music,  359-365  ;  in  painting 
3S4,  385;  in  poetry,  365,  366; 
in  sound  and  colour  corre- 
spond, 375-378;  same  in  prin- 
ciple when  produced  by  one 
colour  and  by  all  colours, 
382,   383;    versus    proportion, 

334 
Haydn,  199 
Hebrew  poetry,   299 
Hedonic    character    of    iesthetic 

pleasure,  3S7 
Hegel,  33 
Heine,  124 
Helmholtz,  370 
Henry  IV.,  183;  VI.,  152;  VIII., 

80,   152 
Hercules,  Farnese,   215 
Ilerrick,   204 
Historic  art,  1S6-191 
Hogarth,  8,  168 
Homer,  138,  15S.  159,  188,  287; 

descriptions  of,  158.  159 
Home   they   broiiglit    her   learrior 

dead,    204.  205 
How    They     Brought     tlie     (lood 

Xews,  198 
Human,  as  an  element  of  art,  4, 

5,  8-11  ;  form,  proportions  of, 

344.  345.  3  5  5-3  5'*^ 
Humanities,  The,  11 
Hunting  So)ig.   iqg 
Hypnotism,  45,  46 


Ideality,   51-55,  57,  58 


INDEX. 


397 


Idealism  in  art,  179 

Iliad,  The,  188,  198 

//  Penseroso,  139 

Imagination,  12,  27,  31-33,  48, 
51-55,  80,  115,  117,  146,  246; 
continuous  work  in  originat- 
ing and  developing  art-form, 
12,  126;  realm  into  which  art, 
especially  poetry,  can  lift  one, 
1 51-154;  definition  of,  115; 
source  in  subconscious  mind 
and  emotion,  55-60;  suscep- 
tible of  training,  65-67 

Imitation,  42,  60,  74;  in  archi- 
tecture, 15,  97-100,  108;  in 
music,  80-83,  ^99'  202,  207, 
208;  in  poetry,  80,  83,  84, 
198-202,  204,  205,  208; versus 
representation  in  all  the  arts, 
70-110.  Scfc' .Association  and 
Comparison 

Imitative,    The,  in   art,   2,     60, 

Importance  indicated,  by  long 
tiine,  197,  198;  by  large  size, 
217-222 

Incongruity,  art-method  of,  277, 
297-299 

Individuality  of  effect  in  art, 
137-140 

In  Monoriarti,  84 

Insjnration,  43,  44,  48,  66;  con- 
nection between  it  and  ])rac- 
tice,  65,  66;  and  the  suV)con- 
scious,  46-48,  60-66.  See 
Genius 

Intellectual  influence  of  music, 
114 

Intelligibility,  iKjt  the  result  of 
art,    1 10 

Interchange,       art-metlujd      of, 

277i   3 1 J^    ,^'4.   ir^  music,   314, 

31,1.  3^>5 
Intersi)ersi(>n,      art-method     of, 

277. ,304.  30^'.  307 
ln\cstigation     and     obser\'atio!i 

in  science.  4S.  5  1 
Israels,  S(),  ()3 
Italian  national  flag,  20 


Jewish  Cemetery,  Ruysdael,  120 
Julius  Cccsar,  Shakespeare,  211, 
232,  271 

K 

Karnes,  Lord,  57 
Kant,    27,  28,    29,   33 
Kaulbach,    168,    189 
Kedney,  33 
Kinglsey,  Charles,  192 
King  Lear,  Shakespeare,  84 
Knowledge,  51 
Kostroma,  Church  of,  218 
Krilik  der  Urtcilskraft,  27 
Kugler,  192 


Lady  of  Lyons,  The,  Bulwer,  14 
L'Allegro,   Milton,   303 
Landscape    gardening,    10,    156, 

157 

Landscape  with^^  aterfall,  Ruys- 
dael,    120 

Laocoon,  The,  159,  160,  183; 
statue,  12:;,  19V  224,  310 

Leaving  for  "Work,  J.  F.  Millet, 
61 

Length,  representing  what?  228, 

235  .      . 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  224 
Lerolle,  93 
Lessing,  art-theory  of,  159,  160, 

168,'  I  S3 
Life    and    movement    as    rejire- 

sented  in  ])<jetry  and  sculpture, 

94-97 

Life- force,  43,  44 

Light  and  shade,  k),  86-97,  2()o, 
304   306,  315,  3i() 

l>ightning  cak-ulators,  46,  47 

Like  with  kike,  in  art-conijxisi- 
lion,  23 ,  2  7(),  324  ;  in  hannoiu", 
364;  in  ])roporti()n,  ;:,'^().  337. 
See  ("lassification,  Comiiarison, 
Composition,   a)id    Repetition 


398 


INDEX. 


Liiu',  academic,  classic,  roman- 
tic.   picUircs([iic.    naturalistic. 

Lilies,  beautiful  when  e(.)m]ilex, 
2  2,  2^:;;  if  cur\"ed,  352,  353; 
nieaninij;s  of,  when  angular, 
rounded,  and  straight,  243- 
252;  in  architectural  and 
linear  perspecti\"e,  1)3,  c)4, 
101  loS;  in  arts  of  sight,  227, 
2  28 

Lines  illustrating,  action,  24(); 
light  and  shade,  19;  repose, 
223 ;  storm,   221 

Lion  Hunt,  The,  11)3,  250 

Long,  S.  P.,  I  Si),  250,  305 

Longfellow,  14,  115,  116,  152 

Lost  Love,  The,   1S4 

Loudness  in  music,  how  pro- 
duced physically,  359 

Louise,  Queen,   20 

Luini,  166 


M 


Made,    Art   is  a  thing.    5,    10-15 

Marien  Platz,  Mimich,  229 

Marr,   C,    86,    381 

Marrvat,   P.,   44 

Matthews,   B.,    30S;    W.    S.    B., 

Maison  Carrce,    Ximes,    103-105 
Massing,     art-method     of,     277, 

304  -307 

Marx,  294 

Maud,  Tennyson,  i()i 

Medici.  Tombs  of  the,  96,  97 

Meissonier,  8(),  i)o,  1  89 

Meistersinger.  20() 

Melodies,  5,  re]irescntati\-e,  82, 
83,  203-205;  similar  in  song 
and  s]>eech,  82,  S3,  202,  204, 
20^;  in  words  as  in  poetr\', 
365, 366 

Melrose  Abbey.  216 

Mcmcirv,   44,   4^.   46    62.   (>:;,   66, 

Mental  ettccts,  in  architecture, 
J24-j2(;,      in      l.)eauty,,       24- 


32;    m    music,    1 14.     115;    m 

]:)ainting.   11S-123,     ."^('c  Signi- 

ticance.   Thought,  ele. 
Merelia)it  of  \'eniee.  271 
Mercury    Plying,  214,  215,  217 
Metre  or  measure    in   music  and 

poetry,   324-327 
Midsummer  Xiglit's    Dream,   A, 

:<?,•   ^^(^ 

Millet.  J.  P.,  61 ,  9  1 ,  93.  ()5  ,  120, 
190 

Milton,  66,  67,  75,  117,  139.  180, 
iSS,   !()().   210.   303 

Miltonian.  5.  133 

Mind,  as  influenced  in  art,  5; 
as  imjilied  in  art,  146;  as 
represented  in  art,  2 74-2 78; 
conscious  versus  subconscious, 
3Q  -58.  134,  139.  177-193.  5a' 
Significance  and  Thought 

Modern  Chromatics,  Rood,  315 

Monks  in  an  Oratorv,  Granet, 
87.  381 

Moral,  or  jtoint  of  a  story,  116, 
187,    188 

Morland,    8 

Morning,  Claude.   121 

Mart  d' Arthur .  Tenn\'son,  117 

Moses,  Angelo,   181.  188 

Motix'c  as  represented  in  ]iitch, 
190  -205 

Moxemcnt  as  re]iresented  in 
architecture,  318;  m  jtictiires 
and  statues,  91  ()7,  i5(),  160. 
165  -]6i).  317.  318;  in  ]ioctry, 
150    1 65 

Mozart,  47.  60.  64,   77,   130,  208 

Murillo,     ic)2 

Music,  et^'ci'ts  of,  distinguished 
from  those  of  poetry.  1  i  i  113, 
148  154:  elements  of  expres- 
sion m,  i()5  212;  emotion,  as 
expressed  m,  112-115,  143, 
147  -150  ;  harmony  in,  3  5(,)-  365  ; 
imitation  in,  5 ,  80-S3,  1  ot),  202, 
207,  20S;  mvol\"ing  an  exter- 
nal product,  II,  12;  medicinal 
effects  of,  1 40;  phase  of  con- 
sciousness represented  in.  142, 


INDEX. 


399 


Music — Continued 

143,  146,  151;  representalion 
in,  78,  80  83,  114,  115,  151, 
199-201;  rhythm  in,  23,  320  - 
328;  scales  and  chords  in, 
359-365 

Musical  effects,  C(.>m])lex.  21-23; 
different  from  poetic,  iii- 
113'    MO -154 


X 


Xatural,  The,  2-5;  distinguished 
from  the  artistic,  2;  scenery, 
as  represented  in  art,  244- 
25  :;,  274  -278  ;  studv  of,  in  art, 

7:'8 

Nearness  represented  by  large 
size,   218-222 

Xewton,    52.   60 

Xordau,    ^Iax,    74 

Xormal  or  j)ure  tone,  206-212; 
its  analogue  in  colour,  255, 
263,  267 

Novel,  religious  and  moral  in- 
fluence of  the,  so,  5 : 


O 


Oliscuritv  is  sometimes  artistic, 

56 
Observation  in  art,  48 
(  Odyssey.  The,  287 
Offenlnich,   77 
Offshore,   Swinburne,   288 
(I  Mary,  (jo   and  Call  the  Cattle 

Home,    Kingsley,    192 
(jjiening    gestures,    235-240 
()])ie,    165 
Orange,     254,     256,     261;     with 

black  or  white.  265,  267,  2()>>, 

.-i'''''^   377-    ■'^''■^'  (-"lours 
()ralory,  not  a  ])urely  rc])resen- 

lati\'eart,   10    155,   i56;])hase 

ol     consciousness    rcjiresenti'd 

in,    144.        NVc    1-^locution    a)ui 

(  u-sturc 
Organit-     form,     art-metliod    of, 

277.    2()3-2()6,   300 


(hriainent  i)i  .Art  a>id  Dress,  C. 
Blanc,  307 

Orotund  tone,  206-212;  its  ana- 
logue in  colour,  255,  26^,  264, 
267 

Othello,    117,    212 

()utlines,  meanings  of,  in  hu- 
manity, nature,  and  art,  242- 


Painting,   an   external  product, 

13,  14;  elements  of  expression 
in,  213-268;  not  merelv  imi- 
tative, 80,  81,84-97,  i^'^"i23; 
X)hase  of  consciousness  ex- 
pressed in,  144-148,  158-160; 
thought  exjiressed  in,  13,  14, 
11S-123;  thcjught  in  contrast 
with  that  in  architecture,  173- 
175;  with  that  in  music  and 
poetry,  158-169;  whh  that 
in  scul-])ture,  169-172.  See 
Colour,  Harmony,  atid  Projjor- 
ticMi 

PaiJiliiiii.  Seiilplure,  and  Arehi- 
tecture  as  Representative  Arts, 
100.  228 

Pantoniin:c,   10.   13 

[\iradise  Lost,  66,  181;  188,  199, 
2  I  o 

Parliament,   Houses  of,    220 

Parallelism,  art-methcxl  of,  277, 

7 

.^61    365 


299-302, 
Partial  tone 
Parthenon. 
Past(jral  s\-m])]ionies,  81 
Patti,  205' 
Payne.  2S7 
Pectorrd     tone.     206   212 

logue  in  cfjlour.  2  ;  ^.  2( 

265 
Pedant's     Pro|)osition    ol 

riage.    238 
Pediinml.   (irce]<.    102 
Penrose.  103.   107 
Personalit  >■    in    art -work; 

140 


:..^(> 


ana- 

.    2(.4, 


.Ma 


40O 


INDEX. 


Perspective,  aerial,  92,  93,  262; 
in  architecture,  101-108;  lin- 
ear, 3,  93,  94,  217-220,  262. 
331,  332;  preparation  for  pro- 
portion  in   architecture,   335 

Peter  Bell,  54,  55 

Pheidias,    138 

Phonetic   gradation,   313 

Photographic  elTects  at  the 
Parthenon,   loi 

Picturesque,  The,  171,  179,  181, 
182,   184,   185,  306 

Piloti,    191 

Pitch,  analogue  in  colour,  214, 
225,  227;  degrees  of  it  as  pro- 
duced in  music,  359,  360; 
meanings  of  it  in  elocution, 
music,  and  poetry,  199-205, 
225-227;  musical,  334.359. 
362-365;  poetic,  365,  366 

Plato,  34,  294,  295 

Play,  40 

Play-impulse,  40-43 

Pleasures  of  Hope,  Campbell, 
189 

Poe,  211,   2S7 

Poetic,  sounds  versus  musical, 
111-113.  355.  366;  versifica- 
tion and  metre,   324-328 

Poetry,  an  external  product,  12, 
13;  contrasted  with  music, 
111-115,  148-154,  contrasted 
with  painting  and  sculpture, 
158-169;  elements  of  expres- 
sion in,  195-212;  harmony 
and  melody  in,  365,  366;  imi- 
tation in,  80,  83,  84,  198-202, 
204,  205,  208,  210-212;  metre 
and  versification  in,  324-328; 
phase  of  consciousness  repre- 
sented in,  144-154;  represen- 
tation in,  52,  53,  55,  56,  83, 
84,   1 1  5-1 18.   144,   151-154 

Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art, 
158,  328 

Pollice  Verso,  41 

Pf)pe,  A.,  30,   198,  199 

Pope,  The,  21,  50 

Poussin,    193,   224,  231,  248 


Poutou  Temple,  China,  280 

Practice  necessary  to  art,  63-66 

Preller,  170 

Prelude,  The,  Wordsworth,  54 

Pre-Raphaelites,  90 

Princess.  The,  182,  295 

Principality,  art -method  of ,  277, 
285,  287-293,  305,  312 

Progress,  art-method  of,  277, 
312,  313,  315,  317-319 

Proportion,  23,  24,  320,  328- 
358;  corresponding  to  rhythm 
not  harmony  of  sound,  329- 
335;  determined  by  apparent 
not  actual  measurements, 
335'  33^1  ^ri  architecture, 
340-344.  355;  indicated  by 
lines  and  figures,  straight, 
rectangular,  or  curved, 
340-358;  in  human  face, 
345-349;  in  human  form, 
344.  345.  355-358;  in  nature, 
i3^-  332;  in  painting,  331, 
332  ;  necessitated  by  the  mind, 
229-333  ;  not  to  be  confounded 
with    perspective,     loi,     102. 

335 
Proportion  and  Harmony  of  Line 
and  Colour,  23,  loi,  ^5^,  ^72, 

Psalm  of  Life.  116 
Pure  tone.     See  Xormal 
Purple,  254,  255-258,  26r,  368- 
377;  with  black  or  white,  261, 
263-265,    268.   See   Colours 
Pvthagoras,  26,  34 


Q 


Quality  of  tone,  in  elocution, 
music,  and  poetry,  i()7,  205- 
212;  compared  to  colour,  255, 
256;  source  in  shapes  of  sound 
waves,  and  in  partial  tones, 
360,    361 

Queen  Anne  style  of  architec- 
ture,   76 


INDEX. 


401 


R 


Radiation.    Sec  Central-Point 

Rainy  Day,  The,  14 

Rape   of   the   Sabines,    Poiissin, 

193,  224,  250 
Raphael,    72,   76,   iiq,   137,   139, 

166,    167,    169,    1 03,   250,   285, 

2S8,  290,  298.  3  1 6 
Ratios,    in    musical    tones,    361; 

in  proportion,  336,  337;  why, 

must  be  small,  336,  337 
Realism,    179 

Realistic  art,   183-190,   194 
Red,    254,    256,    267,    262,    283, 

368-377;  with  black  or  white, 

265,  267,  268.     Sec  Colours 
Reinf^old,  203 

Religion,    48;  versus  art,   48-51 
Religious  tendency  in  art,   178- 

180 
Rembrandt,  89,  315 
Remoteness  indicated, by  colour, 

92,  93;  by  lines,  3,  93,  94;  by 

small    size,    218-222 
Repetition,  art-method  r)f,  269- 

276,    277,   304,   310,  31  I,   312. 

See     Com{)arison     and     Like 

^^■ith     Like. 
Repose  in   landscape  and  iigure, 

247 
Representation,    aim    of    art,    4, 

78;    of    ])ersonality,    130-1 40; 

versus    communication,     io()- 

i2(;;  versus  imitation,  7()-jo8. 

Sec        Architecture,        ^kisic, 

Painting,     Poetry,     Sculpture 
Reynolds,    Sir  J.,   52,    157,    189, 

224,   305,  311,  312 
Rhyme,    271),    365 
Rhythm,     23,     24,    320-328;     in 

naturt',    321,    322;    in    Tier\'e- 

action,    322,    323;   \'crsus   liar- 

mony,   334.   350 
Rliylhni  (I ml  J/arnmiiy  in  /'oelry 

and  M nsie.  328,  366 
Richelieu   Pa\'ilion,    225 
Romanesque    architecture,   251, 

252 
26 


Rood,  315 

Rossetti,  7  I 

Roundness,     representative     of 

what?  228,  234 
Rousseau,  89,  93 
Rubens,    Frontispiece,    76,    119, 

169,   193,  290,  303 
Ruskin,  225,  248,  306,  315 
Rttysdael,    120,    121 


St.  Mark's,  Venice,  227 

Sargent,   73,   89 

Scales,  musical,  determined  by 
partial  tones,  362,  363 

Schnorr,  76 

School  of  Athens,  Raphael,  167 

vSchiller,  40,  57,  67 

Science,  48,  versus  art,  51-56, 
60,  67 

Scientific  tendency  in  art,  178- 
180 

Scott,  Sir  AV.,   199 

Sculpture,  13,  14;  colour  of,  260. 
261;  dignity  of,  172:  elements 
of  expression  in,  213-268; 
phase  of  consciousness  ex- 
.  pressed  in,  144  148;  subjec-ts 
of,  260;  thought  expressed  in, 
118,  123,  i6()-i72;  \'ersus 
]iainting  or  arcltitecture,  1O9- 
1 74.  .^"t'c  Imitation,  Re])rc- 
sentaticjn,  a>id  Painting 

Sentiment,  57,  58;  not  sentimen- 
tality, 58' 

Setting,  art-method  of,  277, 
2()()  -302 

Seven  Lamps  of  Architeettire, 
Ruskin,    225 

Shade.      >'('(■   Liglit  and  Sliadc 

Sliafles  of  cf)lovirs.  8(').  368 

Shaflows,  87 

Sliakespcarc,  8.  53.  67,  76,  80, 
84,  117,  137,  152,  1 83,  18.), 
J  86,    i()j,    210212,    232,    271, 

2  7.=;-  .S04  , 
S]i;d<csi)carian,    133 


A02 


IXDEX. 


Shapo  as  re})reseiUative,  227, 
22S.  244 -25,^,  wiih  texture, 
8S,  Sg.     >"('('  ( )utlines 

Sharpness     as       represeiitatix'c, 

^    22S,    2,u 

Shelley,  S;;.   igi 

Siege  0/  C'ori)itli.  Tlu\  154 

Siegfried.  So,  Si.  igg.  20S.  209 

Significanee,  20,  6q  -7S;  in  archi- 
tecture. 15.  124-129,  244-253; 
in  colour.  253  -2t)A:  in  gesture, 
227-243;  in  music,  8o'S3,  114, 
115.  142,  143,  146,  150,  199- 
200;  in  outlines,  22S.  243- 
253;  in  i^oetry,  53,  54,  55,  56, 
S3.  S4.  115-118.  144,  I5I-I54. 
i^A-ibi),  105  -212;  in  painting 
13.  14.  iiS  123,  1 58-172;  in 
sculpture.  144.  147,  169-172; 
\'ersus  form,  08-78 

Simple,  Tlie.  170,  184.  185 

Sistine,  ('hapel,  Ronie,  1S8; 
Madonna,    72 

Size,    how   re])resentati\"e,    214- 

Skill,   46;  acquired.  63-66 

Smith.    A..    83 

Soldier's    Return,    Relief,    97 

So>!ii  ^V'  ! l^''!)'-  -^  •   154 

Sounds,  com|)ared  with  ccjlours, 
254-26S;  elements  of  repre- 
sentation in.  105-212:  sus- 
tained anfl  unsustained  in 
music  and  poetry  111-113. 
Sec  Harmony  ami  Music 

Space  in  art.   160,  165,  1 6() 

Spanish   Ladv,  A,   Fortunv,   86, 

381 
Spencer,  II,,  40,  42.  51 
Spenser,    E.,    i8(),    211 
Spirit  in  man.  ho\\'  shown,  130- 

140 
S])iritual,     131  -i  40 
Stacl.  Madame  de,  i  75 
'^'tdr-Spa)iiih-<i  I'nuuu-r.  The.  28 
Statuesque.    '\'\\v,    1  7  i 
Steen.   S(, 
Stimson,    3 
Stf;rm,   The,   MilliM.   <)i 


Stradella.    i  14 

Straight  lines,  representative  of 
wdiat  '244    253 

Strength  as  rejiresented  by 
lines,     220   22^ 

Subconscicjus,  The,  44-56,  134, 
139-  i77^")3;  exi)ression  of  it 
can  be  trained.  60-67 

Sublime.    The.    i  79-1  Si 

Subordination,  art-method  of, 
277,  2S5,  2S7,  28S,  293,  298 

Suckling,  152 

Suggestion,  in  art.  28-31;  con- 
nected with  minutest  parts 
as  well  as  with  whole  concep- 
tion of  an  art-w(jrk.  384.383. 
See  Re]iresentation,  Signifi- 
cance, arid  Thought 

Sustained  sounds  in  music  and 
unsustained  in  poetry,  their 
significance.  11  1-113 

Swinburne,   154.   2SS,  314 

Symmetry,  art-method  of.  277. 
2S6,  291,  292.  2()().  301,  302. 
308 

Sym]:)athies.  Arts  ap]ieal  t(j.  11, 
81.  84,  1 34-1 40 

Sym])]iony,  what  it  represents, 
114,    115 


T 


Tadema,   A.   89 

Taj   Mahal.   281 

Talfourd.     102 

Tatuiliatiser.  28,  209,  298 

Taste,   37,   38 

Temperament,    artistic,    59,    60, 

1,1 7    130 
Tcniers,   190 
Tennyscm,    84,     117,     135,     153, 

16;,    182,    191,   208,   210,   295, 

_  314 

TerborelT,   8<) 

Texture   represented  bv  colour, 

SS,   89 
I'luory   I'/    Colour.    Van    Bezold, 

The  Ringand  the  Hook,  135,  314 


INDEX 


403 


Theseus,  Temple  f)f,  210 

Thought  as  represented,  in  ar- 
chitecture. 15.  124,  I2Q,  244- 
253  ;  in  music.  So  83,114.115, 
142,  143,  150,  199-2011;  in 
poetry,  115-11.S,  144-154, 
158-165,  185-212;  in  juunt- 
ing,  13,  14,  1 18-123,  156,  1O5- 
172;  in  sculpture,  144-149. 
169-172;  in  whole  range  of 
art .  141-176.  See  Representa- 
tion and  Significance 

Time,  or  duration,  in  elocution, 
music,  and  poetry,  159  165, 
197,  198  ;  in  j)ictures,  i  59,  i  65- 
169,  317,   c;  18 

Tints,  86,  368 

Tissington  Spires,  245 

Titian,  76,  89,  119,  123,  192,  224, 

.3o.>  ,Sii.  312 
Tomb  of  Giuliano  de'  Medici,  96 
Tone  in  painting,  381  ;  in  sound, 

sec  Quality 
Tones,  partial,   and  their  effects 

on     harmony,     f]uality,     and 

scales,   361-365 
Training  in   education  and  art, 

63-66 
Transfiguration,   The,    Raphael, 

288,    2S9,    2f)8 

Transition,  art-method  of,   277, 

312-317,    365 
Troy  on,    89,    93 
True,  The,  179,  180 
Tunes   of   \'erse,    204,   205,   365, 

366 
Turner,  275,  308,  309 


U 


Ugliness  never  characterising 
the  jirincipal  theme  of  an  art- 
\\f)rk,     3S4 

Umtv,   as    an    art-method,   277 
283,    285,   301.   307,   308,   313, 
318,  319;  as  an  element  of  all 
artistic   effects,   23,32-34,252 

University  at  Sydney,  126,  127, 
310 


Unsustained    sounds  in  poetry, 

1 1 1  - 1 1 3 
Utility  not  the  aim  of  art,  6,  39, 

40 

V 

\'alue    in    painting,    85-90 

Van  Beers.   125 

Van  Bezold,  ^73,  374 

Van  Dyke,  J.'  C.,  95 

Variety,     art-method     of,     277, 

280,  284,  302.  311,  319 
Variation    in    measurements   of 

Greek    temples,    103-10S 
Vase,   explanation   of  sha])e   of, 

.354,    3  5,^ 
\  enus  of  Capitol,  t  71 
Versification,  324,  325.  328 
Vibrations.  23-26,  i  47-1 49  ;  caus- 
ing    colovirs,     324,      374- 3''^3; 
causing    tones,    324,359-365; 
universal.  389,  3()o 
Vileness      never     the     princii)al 

theme  of  an  art-work,  384 
\'irgil,    188 
Vision  of  Constantine,  Raphael, 

..^9.3  .  , 
\'isualising     eifects     of     ])octry. 

Vocal  organs  as  occasioning 
artistic  expression,  9,   196 

Wagner,  28,  32,  77.  So,  81,  kjq, 

203,     204,     207,     209,     2C)7 

U'ahrlieit   itiid   Dictum:.   8 

Walker    Museum,    344 

Walk  lire.   203.   204.   207 

Warn;  cDlours.  254.  255,  2^11- 
268.       .S"(V   Colours 

^Va\•e  theorw  147  -j4<);  in  col- 
ours, ^74  :;S-;  in  tones,  359- 
-/)5 

Webster,  D.,  03 

Webster,   X..   ■;<) 

Wellington.    1  50 

West ,  \i..  76,  172 


404 


INDEX 


White,     255,     261;    all     colours 

together  make.  36S-370,  379; 

with  other  colours,   263,  267, 

268 
Whittier,  212 
Wilde,  O.,  74 
Willesden  Church.   292 
Willems.  F.,   76.  89 
William.  Emperor,  20 
Winckelmann.    183 
Woman    Taken      in     Adultery, 

Poussin,  231 


Wordsworth,    54,    55,     75,    160- 
162,  164,  184,  189 

Y 

Yellow,     254,     256.     261;      with 
black   or  white,  265,  267,  268, 
368-377.      See  Colours 
Yerkes,  C.  T.,    123 
Young,  Sir  Thomas,  374 

Z 

Zion,  hymn,  205 


Works  by  the  Author  of  The  Essentials  of  /Esthetics 

I. — Art  in  Theory.     S",  cluth  extra  ......         Si. 75 

'■  Scores  an  advance  upon  the  many  art-criticisms  e.xtanr.  .  .  .  Twenty  brilliant  chap- 
ters, pregnant  with  suggestion." — Popular  Science  Mont/i/y. 

"A  well  grounded,  thoroughly  supported,  and  entirely  artistic  conception  of  art  that  will 
lead  observers  to  distrust  the  chailatanisni  that  imposes  an  idle  and  superficial  mannerism 
upon  the  public  in  place  of  true  beauty  auJ  honest  workmanship."  —  The  ^'cm  i'or/c 
'rOf/cs. 

"  His  style  is  good,  and  his  logic  sound,  and  ...  of  the  greatest  possible  service  to  the 
student  of  artistic  theories." — A  rt  Journal  (.London  i. 

II. — The  Representative  Significance  of  Form.     S  ,  cloth  extra.  82. 00 

"A  valuable  essay.  .  .  .  Professor  Raymond  goes  so  deep  into  causes  as  to  explore  the 
subconscious  and  the  unconscious  mind  for  a  solution  of  his  problems,  and  eloq^iently  to 
range  through  the  conceptions  of  religion,  science  and  metaphysics  in  order  to  find  fixed 
principles  of  taste.    .    .    .    A  highly  interesting  discussion.  ' — y//<' .?r(Vj;«(7«  (Edinburgh). 

"  Evidently  the  ripe  fruit  of  years  of  patient  and  exhaustive  study  on  the  part  of  a  man 
singularly  fitted  for  his  task.  It  is  profound  in  insight,  searching  in  analysis,  broad  in 
spirit,  and  thoroughly  nuidcrn  in  method  and  sympathy." — The  Vnivcisnlist  Leader. 

"  Its  title  gives  no  intimation  to  the  general  reader  of  its  attractiveness  for  him,  or  to 
curious  readers  of  its  widely  discursive  range  of  interest.  .  .  .  Its  broad  range  may  re- 
mind one  of  those  scythe-bearing  chariots  with  which  the  ancient  Persians  used  to  mow 
down  h(j3tile  files." — 'The  Outlook. 

III. — Poetry  as  a  Representative  Art.     S  ,  cloth  extra  .        $1.75 

"I  have  read  it  with  pleasure,  and  a  sense  of  instruction  on  many  points." — Francis 
Turner  Pali^rave.,  Pro/cisor  of  Poetry,  Oxford  Viiii'enity. 

"  iJieses  ganz  vortreffliche  WerU." — Eiiglische  Studien,  'Uiii7<ersitdt  Bresla u. 

''An  acute,  interesting,  and  brilliant  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  As  a  whole  the  essay  deserves 
unqualified  praise.  ' — .V.   ] ".   Independent. 

IV. — Painting,  Sculpture,  and  Architecture  as  Representative  Arts. 

With  225  illustrations.      S        .  .  .  ,  .  .  82.50 

"  The  artist  will  find  in  it  a  we.dth  of  profound  and  varied  learning  ;  of  original,  sugges- 
tive, help.'ul  thought     .     .     .     of  absolutely  inestimable  \alue." — I  he  Looker-on. 

"Expression  by  means  of  extension  or  size,  .  .  .  shape,  .  .  .  regularity  in  o\itlines 
.  .  .  the  human  body  .  .  .  posture,  gesture,  aud  movement,  .  .  .  are  all  considered 
.     .     .     A  specially  interesting  chapter  is  the  one  on  color."  —  Current  Literature . 

"  The  whole  book  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  e>:ceptional  thoughtfulness,  who  says  what 
he  has  to  say  in  a  remarkably  lucid  and  direct  manner."  -Philadelphia  Presi. 

V. — The  Genesis  of  Art  Form.     I'ully  illusirateil.     S      .         .        82.25 

'■  In  a  spirit  at  once  scientific  and  that  of  the  true  artist,  he  pierces  through  the  mani- 
festations of  art  to  their  sources,  and  shows  the  relations  intimate  and  essential,  between 
painting,  sculpture,  poetry,  music,  and  architc-i  ture.  .-\  book  that  possesses  not  only  sin- 
gular \alue,  but  sin.gular  ch.irni."^  -.\'.    !  .   limes. 

".A  help  and  a  delight.  Every  asijiraut  for  culture  in  any  of  the  liberal  arts,  including 
music  and  poetry,  will  fuid  something  iu  this  book  to  aid  him." — Boston  'J'i>nes. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  withhold  one's  admiration  from  a  treatise  which  exhibits  in  such  a 
large  degree  the  qualities  of  philosophic  criticism."--  I'h iladelphia  Press. 

VI. — Rhythm  and   Harmony  in  Poetry  and  Music.     To<^a'ther  with 
Music  as  a  Representative  Art.     8  ,  cloth  extra       .         81.75 

"  Prof.  Raymond  has  chosen  a  deliglitful  subject,  and  he  treats  it  with  all  the  charm  of 
n.irrative  and  high  thought  and  pri.tound  study." — Se-<o  (Orleans  States. 

"  I'he  re.ider  must  be,  indeed,  a  pers(jn  either  of  supernatural  stupidity  or  of  marvellous 
erudition,  who  does  not  discover  much  information  i'.  Prof.  Raymond's  exhaustive  and 
instriiiti\e  treitise.     From  page  to  paue  it  is  full  of  suggestion."—  -  I'he  Acade/ny  I  London). 

\  11. —  Proportion   and   Harmony  of  Line   and   Color   in    Painting, 
Sculpture,  and  Architecture,     Fully  illustraiiil.    >        .      82. 50 

"  .M, irked  by  iirofound  thought  along  lines  unfamiliar  to  most  readers  and  thinkers.  .  .  . 
When  grasped,  however,  it  becomes  a  source  of  great  en  joyment  and  i.xhilar.itiou.  .  .  .  No 
critii  al  iierson  can  alford  to  ii;iiore  so  vahudde  a  coutrilnitioii  to  the  art-thought  of  the 
day."     -'/he  Art  l„te:,han,ire'(S.  V   ). 

"  One  does  not  need  to  be  ;i  scholar  to  follow  this  scholar  as  he  tc,i(  lies  while  seeming  to 
entertain,  for  he  does  both."       liurliot;ton  Ila'o'keve. 

"  The  artist  who  wishes  to  jienetrate  the  iii\steries  of  color,  the  sculptor  who  desires  to 
cultivate  his  sense  of  ]jro]>i>rtion,  or  the  an  hitect  whose  ambiticui  is  to  re.ich  to  a  high 
standard  will  find  the  work  lu'lpful  .uid  inspiring."       Hoston  J'ranscript. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S    SONS,    New  York  and  London 


Poems  by  the  Author  of  The  Essentials  of  /Esthetics 

A  Life  in  Song,     i()  ,  clcith  extra,  L^ili  lop  ....     $1.25 

"  .Mr.  R^iymoiui  is  .1  poet,  with  all  that  the  name  implies.  He  has  the  true  fire— there  is 
no  ilispiuinfj  tliat.  There  is  thcmght  of  an  elevatetl  character,  the  diction  is  pure,  the 
versification  istriie,  the  metercorrect,  and  .  .  .  affords  innumerable  quotations  to  fortify 
and  instruct  one  for  the  struggles  of  life."  —  Ihiytfoni  }\}}:t. 

"  Marked  by  a  fertility  and  strength  of  imagination  worthy  of  our  first  poets.  .  .  .  The 
versitication  throughout  is  graceful  and  tht)rouglily  artistic,  the  imagery  varied  and  spon- 
taneous, .  .  .  the  multitude  of  contemporary  bardlings  may  find  in  its  sincerity  of  pur- 
pose and  loftiness  of  aim  a  salutary  inspiration."    -  The  Litcraiy  World  (  Boston). 

"Original  and  noble  thoughts,  gracefully  put  into  verse.  .  ,  .  Mr.  Raymond  thoroughly 
understands  the  true  poet's  science,  man." — 'I'hc  I.iicrary  //VrA?' (London). 

"  Here,  for  instance,  are  lines  which,  if  printed  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  front  of  every 
pulpir,  and  practised  by  every  one  behind  one,  would  transform  the  face  of  the  theological 
world.  ...  In  short,  it  you  are  in  search  of  ideas  that  are  unconventional  and  up-to-date, 
get  ".A  Life  in  Song.'  and  read  it."  —  i'liity. 

"  The  poet  has  '  a  burden'  as  conscious  and  urgent  as  the  prophet  of  old.  His  is  a 
'story  with  a  purpc^se,'  and  very  deftly  and  effectively  is  it  sung  into  the  ear  of  the  cap- 
tivated listener.  .  .  .  Wonderful  versatility  and  mastery  of  the  poetic  art  are  shown  in 
the  manipulati(m  of  speech  to  the  ser\  ice  of  thouiiht.  .  .  .  Professor  Raymond  has  re- 
ve.ded  a  metrical  genius  of  the  highest  order." — Tlie  M'atclnuan. 

"A  reniarkablv  line  study  of  the  hopes,  aspirations,  and  disappointments  of  .  .  .  an 
American  modern  life.  ...  Is  not  only  dramatic  in  tendency,  but  is  singularly  realis- 
tic and  acute.  .  .  .  I'he  volume  u  ill  appeal  to  a  large  class  of  readers  by  reason  of  its 
clear,  musical,  flexible  verse,  its  fine  thought,  and  its  intense  human  interest.  " — Boiton 
Ti;x)iscrif>t. 

Ballads,  and  Other  Poems,     ifi  ,  i  Intli  cMra,  gilt  io\>  .         $1.25 

"  Xotable  ex.'imples  of  what  may  be  wrought  of  native  material  by  one  who  has  a  taste- 
ful ear  and  jiractised  hand.  .  ,  .  There  is  true  enjoyment  in  all  that  he  has  written." — 
Bost'Vi   Gloln-. 

".'\  very  unusual  success,  a  success  to  which  genuine  poetic  power  has  not  more  con- 
tributed than  wide  re.iding  and  extensive  preparation.  The  nallads  overflow,  not  only 
with  the  general,  but  with  the  very  particular  truths  of  history."  —  Chtciiniati  I'iun-s. 

"A  work  of  true  genius,  briuiful  of  imagination  r.nd  sweet  humanity."  —  The  l-'iii-siiic 
(London). 

"  Fine  and  strong,  its  thought  original  and  suggestive,  while  its  expression  is  the  very 
perfection  of  narrative  style  " — The  X.   ) '.  Critii\ 

"  I'roves  beyond  doubt  that  Mr.  Raymond  is  the  possessor  of  a  poetic  faculty  which  is 
worthy  of  the  most  careful  and  conscientious  cultivation." — A'.   ) '.  J-li'eiiiiii^  l\isi. 

".■\  very  thoughtful  study  of  character  .  .  .  great  knowledge  of  aims  and  motives.  .  .  . 
.Such  as  read  this  poem  will  derive  from  it  a  benefit  more  lasting  than  the  mere  pleasure  of 
the  moment." — The  Sf'cctator  \\An\i\in\) . 

".Mr.  Raymond  is  a  poet  emphatically,  and  not  a  scribbler  in  rhyme." — L'tcrary 
Church  mail  (London). 

The  Aztec  God  and  Other  Dramas.     16  ,  clotli  cNtm,  oiu  top   ,   Si. 25 

"  The  three  dramas  included  in  this  volume  rejireseut  a  felicitous,  intense,  and  me- 
lodious expression  of  art  both  from  the  artistic  and  poetic  point  of  view.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Raymond's  power  is  above  all  that  of  psychologist,  iMid  added  thereto  are  the  richest 
products  of  the  imagination  both  in  form  and  spirit.  Tiiebook  clearly  discloses  the  work 
of  a  man  possessed  ol  an  extremely  refined  critical  poise,  of  a  culture  pure  andclassical, 
and  ,1  sensitive  conception  of  what  is  sweetest  and  most  ravishing  in  tone-quality.  The 
most  delicately  perceptive  ear  could  not  detect  a  Haw  in  the  mellow  and  rich  music  of  the 
blank  \erse. "—/'«/'/«-  Opittion. 

■'.  .  .  The  plot  is  exceedingly  interesting  and  well  executed.  .  .  .  It  is  careful 
work,  strong  and  thoughtful  in  its  conception."  —  Woreater  Spy. 

".•\s  fine  lines  as  are  to  be  found  anywhere  in  Knglish.  .  .  .  Sublime  thought  fairly 
leaps  in  sublime  expression.  .  .  .  As  remarkable  for  its  force  of  epigram  as  for  its 
loftiness  of  conception."  —  Cle\'cland  World. 

"There  are  countless  quotable  passages  in  Professor  Raymond's  fine  verse.  .  .  . 
The  work  is  one  of  unus  ,al  power  and  brilli.mcy,  and  the  thinker  or  the  student  of  liter- 
ature will  find  the  b'lok  deserving  of  careful  study."-- /'I'/iv/;'  li/ade. 

Pictures  in  Verse.     Witli  20  illuslraiions  by  Maud  Stumm.        Square  >  , 
ill  ornamental  cloth  cover.s     .  .  .  .  .  .  •  b  .75 

"  Little  love  poems  of  a  light  and  airy  cliar.icter,  dcsiribing  pretty  rustic  scenes,  or^do- 
mestic  interiors.     .     .     .     As   charming  U.y   its   illustrations  as  for  its  reading  matter." — 

Detroit  l-ree  Tress. 

G.    P.   PUTNAM'S   SONS,    New  York  and  London. 


/ 

Date 

Due 

y  ^ 

.TV  'J^  , , 

i^>'^      '  ^  -l 

1 

y'mi"^l  1962 

jm  1  d  1965      ! 

'■-AY  3  7   |c 

\n^  ^ 

0  D     P^. 

1 

1                     1 
1 

'                    [ 

1 

1 

! 

^ 

L-t>rary    Bun.-a 

Cat.   No,    1137 

'FACILITY 


3^^to  00466  oeTr^ 


